


Black Irises

by mulderythrocyte



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Flashbacks, I Don't Even Know, Too soft, daddy Alfie, daddy but like real baby daddy, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulderythrocyte/pseuds/mulderythrocyte
Summary: Deborah meets her sweet, jewish boy she used to know. He is different now. He is a man. He changed when she left him. War changed him.Alfie Solomons has a few rules. One of them says that no one is allowed to touch or even get near to his woman. Even though Deborah isn't his anymore, he still considers her his own property.





	1. The Beach

Deborah entered the building, which from the very beginning was the purpose of her journey. She caught Polly and Ada's attention. They were inside when she decided to disturb their peace in an extremely rapid way. She was breathing heavily and deeply, feeling the familiar, inevitable burning in her chest. The women watched her - they knew exactly why she came.

“Where is he?” she asked without hesitation. She only needed a few deeper breaths. Without waiting for any answer, she moved quickly to Tommy's office. She opened the door, using a little more force than she intended. The room was empty. “Where the fuck is he?”

Ada stood in the entrance to her older brother's office. She looked at Deborah and took a deep breath. She didn't say a word, instead she pursed her lips and followed Deborah, who was looking for one of the books in the desk. She counted on getting any information about the current location of Thomas Shelby as if she expected him to record the exact date and place of the planned revenge.

“Where are they, Ada?” she wailed desperately. She ran her fingers through her hair in a purely nervous gesture, and once again looked around the room. She hoped that Tommy would be at her side any minute, that she would be able to talk to him. “I know what Alfie did. I also know that he should be punished for this. But not this way, Ada. Not this way...” she spoke uncontrollably, having more and more problems with breathing. “He is a good man. Each of us has moments of weakness, don’t we? He just wanted... he had to find a way to...”

“Out of the pan and into the fire.” Ada interjected. “First, you believed that this fucking Italian-tyrant could change. That he'll stop beating the shit out of you.” she folded her arms and shook her head in disbelief. “Now you hope you can change Solomons. You justify everything he did. At least you try to justify that he agreed to kill Tommy.”

“He had no choice.” she protested, dropping her hands. They fell involuntarily. She knew that if she would stay here and have a senseless conversation with Ada, she wouldn't be able to do anything, she would lose her precious time.

“Sure, he had not.” she snorted. “I have helped you many times. Because you are my friend and I love you like my own sister. But I don't know if I can put my real family above your happiness. Which, by the way, you probably won't get. Not with someone like Solomons.”

Deborah's eyes welled up with tears. It happened often when she was falling into pieces, which was not a sign of weakness. Most often she cried when the pain was unbearable. Never out of helplessness, but now - completely involuntarily - she made an exception. At the thought of Tommy getting rid of Alfie at any moment, a mixture of negative feelings filled her to the brim. A mixture of negative feelings that she couldn't take with calmness.

Ada noticed a change on Deborah's face. At first she saw the uneasiness in her eyes. Now she could see the pain that distorted her smooth, pale visage.

“Listen, Debby. I don't know where he is. He rarely tells me about his destinations.” she said reproachfully. She could no longer look at how Deborah was falling apart from the overwhelming feeling, under the pressure from Ada.

“Formby Beach.” Polly interjected. The woman appeared out of nowhere. Although Deborah was aware that Polly is nearby, she was surprised by her sudden presence. She glanced at the smoldering cigarette, then at Polly's face. An expression of worry pierced her face. “You better be hurry. Tommy set off about ten minutes ago. And I don't think that anything will stop him from what he intends.” she said and brought the cigarette back to her mouth.

“Oh, God. Thank you so much, Pol.” Deborah approached the woman quickly, wrapped her arms around her neck, then laid a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, she left the building and bumped into Arthur. She looked at him, frowning.

“Good day, Debby girl!” he shouted.

“Not now, Arthur.”

 

*

 

“Ishmael” Deborah touched the man's forearm and pointed to a distant point. The view of the beach caused a piercing heat have through her body. She also saw three silhouettes - Tommy, Alfie and Cyril. “Stop the car.” she asked, and before Ishmael extinguished the engine, she opened the door. She fell out of the car and rushed roughly towards the beach. The weather seemed perfect - a light breeze blew the neck and cheeks of Deborah, and the high placed sun cast pleasantly warm rays. The sky was extremely blue and the sea exceptionally calm. She would stop, give more attention to everything that was around her if it was not for the task she gave herself. Tommy has chosen a beautiful day undoubtedly. Or that day favored his intentions. 

Tommy was aiming for Alfie. The weapon outlet was at the height of Alfie's face. Tommy was hesitating, which the casual person would not be able to see. Because Tommy didn't hesitate like other people; he didn't show uncertainty, he didn't consider the pros and cons. He was appeared determined, as someone who had already made the decision. But he delayed carrying out the task assigned to him by himself. Seeing all this, Deborah almost made a pitiful moan. At first she couldn't bring herself to make any sound, no matter how much she wanted to prevent Alfie from upcoming judgment. She heard that they were talking - if the conversation consisted of Alfie's one-sided monologue - but she couldn't catch specific words, the meaning of the speech. She was too far away, the blood was too loud in her ears.

“Stop it!” she screamed, realizing that it would be all over before she gets to the right place. “Put down the gun, Tommy. Please!” she added in one breath. She was in the habit of asking instead of ordering. Alfie often admonished her that she should be a bit tougher if she wants to survive. That she should treat men a bit harder.

They both looked at her. Alfie's face expressed surprise and horror Deborah had never seen before. Tommy looked indifferent, though she was able to see the movement of his jaw as he pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. She stood at the point between Alfie and Tommy. She brushed individual strands of hair from her face, breathing heavily. She stared at Tommy - she expected that he could use the moment of inattention and settle the matter as it should. She looked at Alfie, however.

“You shouldn't fucking be 'ere, right? You shouldn't get involved in 'his.” Alfie drawled. He was clearly offended by the fact that someone interrupted him with such an intimate experience as his own death.

“Shush!” she turned to him, raising her finger.

Deborah looked at Tommy again. She came to him slowly. The sand made it difficult to move, not to mention stepping up - she was shaking on her feet as the shoes were sinking in the soft, golden surface. She was like a child who was just learning how to walk. Besides, she felt unimaginably tired. She stepped up in front of Tommy, never taking her eyes off his face.

“Don’t do it.” she whispered pleadingly. “He deserved it after all he did. Except that I don't have a goddamn idea why he did it...” she glanced at Alfie with reproach, then returned to Tommy. “Let him live. Not for himself, but for me. For Benjamin.” she smiled crookedly, though her eyes filled with tears. After a moment, one of them ran down her cheek. “Otherwise, shoot me too.” she nodded decisively. 

Tommy looked away from Alfie and slowly moved it to Deborah. He hadn't been making exceptions, even if a woman asked him to do otherwise. If he had to avenge a family member or other important case, he was unstoppable. He didn't accept arguments or prayers. Still, something in Deborah's face meant that he would be able to consider it all again.

“Mphm... We can be together forever.” Alfie interjected. He was strangely calm, unmoved by the whole situation. “Somewhere else. In a better place. In _Olam ha-ba_.”

Deborah turned slowly and looked at him with a pain that didn't accompany her even when she was with her previous husband. She didn't understand his attitude. She didn't accept the words he said. She didn't believe he could talk to her that way. She didn't believe that he thought he could convince her this way. She looked at him with a distinct grief, as if she was angry with him. Alfie was close to looking away. But then he would show his weakness.

“You, sweetie” Alfie pointed at her. “you have yer fucking, perfect ending, eh?” he said. “Let me have mine. This 's exactly as I wanted it to be. You can leave, right. No need to watch.”

“You can't be serious.” she shook her head. She pursed her lips and looked away only for a moment. She looked at the sky over her head, closed her eyes and let the warm rays fall on her face, drowning in the golden light of the sun to gain strength. She looked at Alfie again. She sniffed and walked over to him, traveling twice as long as to Tommy. She stepped in front of a silhouette emitting extraordinary power, in front of the silhouette which she always felt safe with. Familiar warmth beat out of Alfie's body. The warmth she wanted to remember. That's why she approached him a few extra inches and placed her hands on his stomach, sliding them under the flap of his thick coat. Alfie raised his hand to her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and then he wiped another tear that fell down her face.

“Don’t say that. Don't do such a thing to me.” she whispered. Alfie looked at her with complete understanding. However, Deborah wasn't able to understand how he could be so calm. She knew why, since he chose such an end for himself. But she didn't know how he was managing it. “Don't do this to _us_.”

“Yeah. Our Benji.” he gasped expressionlessly. “He'll understand it.” he answered in the same tone as before. Deborah frowned with disbelief. “He's a big boy. And you acting like a little girl, aren't you?”

Alfie looked away and thrust his gaze into Tommy's face. As if he expected he would do what he came for. Deborah followed his glance, then raised her hands to his face and forced him to look at her. Only now did she notice the difficulty with which he looked into her eyes. He never had that big problem with it. He was usually self-confident, crushing her with his power, a hard, dominant gaze. It came naturally, he never wanted her to feel worse than him. But she felt that she should worship him. Go to her knees and pray to her own Lord and Savior, who Alfie was to her.

“Maybe _he_ 'll understand.” she replied, taking the same indifferent calm. She looked down just to gather her thoughts. She had to wonder if she should reveal a theory that had been bouncing off the walls of her mind for a long time. It was like a biting insect reminding her of its presence. “You can't take a father away from the _children_. Do you understand me, Alfie?” she asked, looking him in the eye again.

Alfie opened his eyes wider, frowned and raised his chin a bit, looking at Deborah from a different angle. He had never thought that he would be able to feel so many conflicting emotions. He wasn't stupid and he thought he knew what Deborah was talking about. Out of fear, he didn't allow himself this thought. If he was not mistaken, and Deborah's words were quite obvious, he was not ready for what was waiting for him.

“Fuck me...” he took a deep breath through his slightly parted lips. He raised his hands and covered Deborah's hands with them. He has always admired her beauty. For him, she was a rare masterpiece, the most precious gemstone. He was grateful that he had met her again, that he could be with her. But now he couldn't tell if he felt any happiness. He pursed his mouth, making one of the lip disappear somewhere under his mustache. He squeezed his eyelids as if some unidentified, exceptionally loud and troublesome noise disturbed his thoughts. Deborah saw a single, wet trail run through Alfie's cheek. He took an uneven breath and dropped to his knees, sliding his hands down Deborah's body. He buried his face in her stomach and embraced her, clinging her like a last resort. Deborah slipped her fingers into his hair and breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s all right, Alfie. It's over now.” she said quietly. “Everything will be fine.”

Alfie didn't believe her words. He knew that it has been better back then. And they probably never will be happier than they used to be. Their best times have passed, and attempts to come to terms with this thought have ended in failure. He couldn't see the future. And he didn't feel convinced about the positives of life, even when Deborah was with him. He felt even worse with the thought that once again he must bring her into the world that surrounded him. Such delicate, seemingly weak woman in his dangerous reality. He didn't want to think about raising children in this conditions. He knew what happened to Grace Shelby.

“We'll move to Margate. Just like in your visions.” she smiled slightly. She leaned over and kissed the top of Alfie's head. She glanced at Tommy, who was watching them. “You'll never see him again. He will never hurt your family. You have my word. Just let us go.”

It was said that Thomas Shelby had softened. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was less brutal, but he never lost his cunning and skill to solve problems. And this time he could see another way out of the situation.

“If he dares to threaten my family again, I will kill him. Without blinking. Understood?” he said, not even trying conviction. He just looked at Deborah, and he gave her no choice but to believe his words.

 


	2. The Closet

Deborah Castellano chose the most childish hideout possible. She decided to hide in the closet. She wasn't thinking much at the time, so only after a while she realized where she actually was. She was standing between her husband's shirts, being struck by the familiar scent of his perfumes and cigarettes from all around. She tried all the ways, but the smell of tobacco was a problem she couldn't get rid of.

Deborah had been reading or hearing about similar stories in books and legends that were told to her when she was a child. The victim of a mythological creature out of this world, sat in the closet and prayed that the monster wouldn’t find her. She didn't like these kind of stories, not because they were bloodcurdling, but because she found them absurd. However, in situations which she experienced on her own skin, she forgot about the absurdity. But there was something that distinguishes Deborah from each heroine. Deborah hadn't been begging for a chance to escape or a happy ending. Each time she just wished for a quick, painless death.

The bedroom door opened wide. Deborah held her breath and covered her mouth with her hand, in case she was going to make an uncontrollable sound. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think rationally, but couldn't make any logical move. She wanted to reveal her location and settle it as soon as possible.

“Debbie” the familiar voice sound in a way that wasn't revealing a predictable finale. Biagio was moving heavy, but carefully. He looked around the bedroom, since it was the only room he hadn't have a chance to search. “Where are you, _mio tesoro_? You're hiding from me. Again. But I always find you.”

Deborah swallowed hard. She didn’t react to the tears running down her cheeks. No matter how often she cried, she couldn't get use to her emotions exploding that way. Admittedly, she had been bravely accepting her husband's anger, gritting her teeth as he raised her hand. But when he terrorized her for a few days in a row, and then gave lessons she would remember for the rest of her life, she hadn't been able to stand the created tension.

Biagio grabbed the edges of the bedside table and threw it to the other side of the room. A loud slam made Deborah twitch and wince as if she just had been hit with it herself. Biagio's chest raised and fell a few more times. Then he ran his fingers through hair and rested his hands on his hips. Once again, he looked around the bedroom, this time deciding to take quieter steps. Deborah watched him through the gap between the wardrobe door. Sometimes she wondered if what he was doing was a game. It was impossible for him not to be aware of a slightly open door. Then she remembered how anger could blind him. She imagined his anger as blinkers dripping with venom. This venom got into Biagio's mind and told him to do all these terrible things.

Suddenly, the man's eyes fell directly on the gap Deborah was looking through. She was in a immediate cold sweat. Before Biagio approached the wardrobe, a smile slipped onto his mouth. A smile that made Deborah's guts overturn in paranoid fear. She instinctively squeezed deeper into the closet. Biagio moved forward quickly, opened the door and reached inside the piece of furniture. Luckily for Deborah, he missed the first attempt. He was furious, but joyous at the same time because he managed to find her. He was so happy knowing that he would be able to do his routine. When he reached out again, he grabbed Deborah's hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

“No, my dear, please!” she moaned, hoping that she could do anything to stop him. She knew well how her attempts to beg Biagio for mercy would end. They always ended the same way. Still, the instinct for survival and awareness of the upcoming pain made her take the same attempts every time.

Biagio didn't have to use all his strength to get Deborah out of the closet. Nor did he have to yank that hard to get her on the floor, but he did anyway.

“What was you thinking? That you could get away with it? _Sciocca e ingenua che non sei altro_!” he smiled broadly, though his words weren't bringing anything good.

Deborah wasn't trying to stand on her feet. If Biagio was about to knock her down again, she'd rather wait. She looked at him from below, watching the satisfaction drawing on his face. He was pleased with himself whenever he managed to arouse fear in her. He often threatened her, but she usually took it indifferently. Sometimes she thought death would be a better option than enduring all of this. In other cases she was simply scared. Biagio saw the terror in her eyes, which made him eager for further action.

“Biagio...” she wailed, raising her hand. She hooked her fingers against the material of his pants and took a deep breath. Her cheeks were burning with tears, but Biagio seemed delighted with it. Delighted with his own masterpiece. “Don't do this. I'm begging you.”

He clenched his jaw. There was no trace left after his smile. _So it will be worse_ , she thought. She knew this scheme by heart. Biagio was feeling an irresistible urge to slaughter his wife. He was extremely happy when he managed to raise an adequate level of fear in her. In the end he would found something that irritated him - something that was the final nail to Deborah's coffin.

He put his shoe on Deborah's shoulder and pushed her away. Deborah's back once again collided with the floor. Biagio always enjoyed playing with food before consummation. He didn't have to wonder much before he aimed a solid blow at her ribs. The tip of his shoe hit a hard surface that crunched under heavy pressure. Deborah screamed in pain, and once again she was in tears. This time not in fear but in pure agony.

_“Stai zitto_!” he screamed. He crouched beside the frail, writhing body and put his fingers around Deborah's jaw. His fingertips stuck in her cheeks.

“I will teach you how to behave properly. I am the only man in your life. When will you put it in your head?”

Deborah always knew the reason behind her punishment. None of them was serious enough for her to really deserve such a punishment. Biagio called it justice, he considered himself a judge, a masculine equivalent of Themis. This time, she regretted talking to the gardener longer than usual. In fact, they didn't talk that long, but long enough for Biagio to deduce Deborah's possible interest in the young man.

“Biagio, please...” she managed. She had trouble breathing. Crying forced her into deeper breaths, which in turn caused terrible pain. Biagio only shook his head and slapped Deborah's face. He learned this left much less marks than a fist.

 

*

 

Deborah repeatedly thought about killing Biagio in his sleep. She could strangle him with a pillow or cut his throat. She was afraid, however, that the plan would fail again. She tried to do it at the very beginning, when she was just getting used to the idea of Biagio having violent episodes for any reason. But one day he went a step further, and apart from a few bruises, he left a bloody gash on Deborah's shoulder. She had never thought about taking someone's life, because such drastic steps weren’t in her nature. But that one time she grabbed a kitchen knife and threw herself at Biagio. Not in a blind madness - she thought about every move she made. Nevertheless, Biagio quickly overpowered her and promised that if she tried to touch him again, he would kill her. And if he announced her that he would do it, he really meant it. Deborah promised herself that if she ever came to die, she will decide about it herself.

She hated everything associated with him. His smell, voice, the way he looked at her. It's true that she owed him a roof over her head, since her parents decided to arrange her future. Most of it. Otherwise she and Benjamin would have no place to go. Fortunately, Biagio didn't treat her son like he treated her. Nor was he a role model. Deborah prayed that Benjamin would never gain the qualities of his stepfather. For now, he was a sweet, brilliant boy. And she wanted him to stay like that.

Despite the events from last night, Biagio decided not to cancel the banquet. No wonder, since he had planned it for over a month. That's why Deborah had to try hard to cover all the marks he left on her body. She especially focused on her face. She applied as much makeup as possible, emphasizing the eye.

The banquet was meant to be an expression of gratitude to people who agreed to cooperate with Biagio. He wasn't hiding the fact that he led the local section of the Sicilian mafia. Despite this, he never put Deborah into details. She was familiar with gangs, she was aware what their job was. But she didn't particularly care about the interests of her husband.

She heard a grunt behind her back. She hurriedly threw a light material of her dressing-gown on her shoulders and looked back. She was afraid that she would find Benjamin. That the boy would appear faster than she had anticipated, so she couldn't manage to cover her bruised back in time. But that wasn't Benjamin. It was the latest acquisition of Biagio - a young maid, named Darlene.

Darlene was holding a hanger with the dress Deborah intended to put on tonight. The dress reached to the ground, it was sleeveless, ivory-colored, additionally covered with fringes, which were arranged in the shape of fish scales. She remembered the feelings that accompanied her when she bought this creation. She felt relief, because she managed to find something on time. And satisfaction, when it turned out that it lies perfectly and doesn't require any corrections.

“Thank you, Darlene. You can leave now.” she gave Darlene a smile and went back to the mirror of the dressing table she had been sitting in front of for more than an hour. Make-up usually didn't take her that much time. In this case, she was unable to perform too fast or sudden movements. The pain on the side of the chest radiated to her entire body whenever she raised her hand.

She wondered what should she do with her hair. Long, subtle curls framed her pale face She liked the apparent sense of freedom when her hair fell on her back, arms and every possible place. Biagio, however, loved when she revealed her neck and shoulders. She would act boldly, going her own way. For a long time she has been guided only by reason.

Deborah couldn't even see the exact moment when Darlene had left the room. Someone else appeared in the bedroom. Deborah knew the steps of her own child. Benjamin usually moved quietly, but this time he was too excited. Unlike Deborah, he liked Biagio’s parties. Not because of the enormity of the sumptuous, fanciful food, or new personalities who could threw at him a mass of presents as the new uncles and aunts. He liked these parties, because when everyone was taking care of the guests, Benjamin could go anywhere he wanted on the estate.

“You look very pretty, mummy.” he confessed, looking at the mirror reflection of Deborah. She looked away from the smooth surface and glanced at the boy's face, smiling warmly. Though he was unaware of this, Benjamin could always make her feel a little better.

“You think so?” she raised her eyebrow. He nodded willingly, so Deborah leaned forward and laid a tender kiss on her son's cheek. Then she got rid of the red lipstick, wiping it with her thumb.

No doubt she loved Benjamin. She couldn't imagine that it would ever be any different. He was her child, but also a memory that she held tightly. Her son had his father's face. She knew that when he will grow up, he would be just as handsome as his father. She already saw him in Benjamin's eyes. He also had his ears and even the same plump lips. After Deborah, he inherited his eyes in a cool shade of green. Whether she wanted it or not, Benjamin reminded her of her youth when she was really free and happy.

Benjamin left the bedroom, taking all the warmth and good energy with him. Deborah took a deep breath to get rid of tears that came to her eyes. Collecting and tensing her hair brought her another wave of pain.

 

*

 

Deborah was standing before the railing and looked down, where the ballroom was. She still couldn't understand why anyone would want something like that in their own home. A completely unnecessary room, testifying to an overgrown ego of the host. Whenever Deborah imagined her perfect house, she never saw the ballroom. She didn't like when crowds of strangers had access to places that should only be intended for family members. On the other hand, she didn't feel that the building she inhabited was a _home_. Home is a place where she should feel happy and safe.

Deborah went down the marble, wide staircase, moving her hand over the wooden varnished handrail. Most of the guests paid attention to her. The conversations fell silent, and a hundred pairs of eyes got stuck in the silhouette of Deborah. She couldn't help but feel that each step carried discomfort. She was sore, but she was giving a smile to every face she encountered. Biagio loved showing his wife to everyone, bragging about her. He had been doing it only in company. On a daily basis, he didn't appreciate her beauty because nobody could envy him when there was no audience.

Biagio appeared at her side. He placed a hand on the bottom of her back and laid a kiss on her cheek. A grimace of dissatisfaction passed over her face. She breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that Biagio didn't pay attention to it.

“You look beautiful.” he said. “ _Bellissima_.”

“Thank you, dear.” she replied blankly. Then she forced a smile and looked at his face with clear tiredness. The party didn't start yet, but Deborah would hide somewhere far away from the curious looks of the guests. Somewhere where it was quiet and peaceful enough. Somewhere where she could breathe, because she thought she would suffocate. The right dose of sleep should improve her well-being, maybe even her health. If only Biagio would agree. It was easier for him to deal a blow than to show a bit of goodwill.

“I want you to meet someone.” he said after a moment. He kept his hand on her back. As if he wanted to show everybody whose property she was. She had no choice but to nod in silence and accept everything he wanted from her.

She turned in the exact moment Biagio got her to understand that she should do it. Two men were standing in front of her. They didn't seem to feel comfortable in each other's company. Not to mention what they must have felt when it came to the people surrounding them.

At the beginning, Deborah looked at the familiar figure. Thomas Shelby was undoubtedly an interesting character, and the owner of the most blue eyes Deborah had ever seen. And often she had the opportunity to watch them, because Tommy was the older brother of Ada Shelby - a long-time friend of Deborah. In the past these two had much better contact, but they still happened to meet in one of the bars owned by Shelby family. Deborah loved the evenings during which she could at least for a moment forget about reality. She was helped by the right amount of whiskey. Or vodka.

“Hello, Tommy. It’s good to see you there. One familiar face in ocean of strangers.” she smiled warmly and shook his hand. Biagio frowned, but didn't say a word. Deborah guessed that they would _talk_ about it later.

The other man watched her with unnatural interest. He was wrinkling his forehead hidden under the wide brim of the majestic hat. His face was covered with a thick, lush beard, and his eyes studied the silhouette of Deborah. Although the expression on his face indicated that he would most often break her and her husband in half, she didn't feel threatened. She was looking at him, tilting her head. Immediately afterwards she realized that she knew these eyes. She knew those facial expression, as well as plump lips, although in this case she had the opportunity to see only the bottom lip.

“And this is...” Biagio pointed to the man who had raised in Deborah bigger, definitely too big for Biagio, interest.

Deborah only heard part of the words that left Biagio's mouth. Suddenly she found herself in a completely different place. Everything around had died down, and in a room full of strangers, she could see only one person. She didn't expect that after all these years she would meet the only man she truly loved.

“Alfie Solomons.” Deborah whispered, staring at a familiar face with a longing. Over the years, she hasn't changed as drastically as Alfie. She was sure that he had to recognize her much earlier. That would explain the intensity of his sight that looked into her soul, and even pierced it through.

She parted her lips to say something or catch some air. Suddenly everything seemed to whirl and her view started to cover with dark spots. The pain in the chest pulsed, knocking out its own rhythm. Deborah could feel the heat spreading on her skin, then the chill of cold. She lost her balance, and from a forthcoming falling she was saved by a pair of strong arms that appeared out of nowhere.


	3. The Jewelry Store

Deborah was sitting in front of the vanity mirror for half an hour. Pointlessly staring at her own reflection, from time to time she looked at the products in front of her. She didn't even know where to start. On the day of the banquet, when she regained consciousness and the guests went home, Biagio blurted out everything that troubled him during the party. He explained Deborah again, where she belonged. And that she had no right to look at other men for so long. Deborah wondered what would happen if she asked Ada Shelby for help. Would Peaky Blinders agree to save her from oppression. She considered it, but the intentions were gone faster than they appeared. For several important reasons - Thomas Shelby won't start a personal war with the Sicilian gang. Besides, Deborah felt she had to do it herself.

She grabbed a pack of powdered pigment. She usually combined it with vaseline so it would stick to her face. And this time, as always, she dipped the fingertip in the prepared mixture, then spread the substance over the appropriate area. Thanks to this, she was able to cover enough of the purple bruise that her eye adorned. Then she applied the powder until the mark completely disappeared under the make-up layer.

Biagio appeared in the bedroom. She didn't hear his footsteps, and she saw his reflection in the mirror. He stood behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked her arm. Deborah held back a involuntary grimace. She was too sore to allow herself a replay. Biagio leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“It doesn't please me, believe.” he spoke and stroked Deborah's hair. She wanted him to leave. Nothing more. “But you deserved to be punished. I think you agree with me.” he raised an eyebrow. Deborah swallowed hard. Everything he said was cruelly wrong. She knew well how Biagio reacted to causing her pain. He was delighted. 

“I think so too.” she replied blankly. She looked up at their mirror image and refrained from clenching her jaw.

“You think what?”

“That I deserved it.” she replied and looked back, raising her head to look at his face. Biagio smiled and stroked her cheek. Shortly thereafter, he left the bedroom, and Deborah remained in place, staring into one, insignificant point. In such situations, she always wondered what she did to be punished this way. Why God decided to send her a monster like Biagio. She'd been thinking about Alfie since yesterday. And whenever she recalled a picture of him, she felt a familiar, pleasurable warmth in her stomach, which she hadn't experienced for a very long time. She lowered her eyelids and took a deep, uneven breath.

 

*

_Eleven years earlier._

  

“Deborah!” her mother's voice effectively pulled her out of bed. She barely opened her eyes, didn't manage to brush her hair or get dressed. She took the quilt away from her body and ran toward the exit from her room. She nearly collided with the frame, but eventually made it.

“Deborah!”

“I’m coming!” she responded, running down the stairs. She adjusted the straps of the nightgown, which slipped loosely from her shoulder. She looked around. Her mother probably came back to the kitchen, so Deborah went in that direction. She brushed her hair behind her ears, though a single strand fell on her forehead. She made a few attempts to blow it away, but each of it ended in the same failure.

Her mother looked at her, then opened her eyes wider.

“For God's sake, put something on!” she whined, shaking her head. “You're wandering around in your underwear only...”

“It's not underwear, mum.” she frowned and smiled, grabbing an apple from kitchen worktop. “It's a... pyjama.” she added in her defense and looked down at herself. She shrugged, then looked back at her mother. The woman once again shook her head, this time with a distinct disapproval. She went back to cutting the remaining apples in slices. Fruit present on the kitchen countertop heralded apple pie - sweet specialty of Margaret Rouby.

Deborah bit into an apple, thanks to which she could release her hands. This, in turn, allowed her to get rid of her hair from her face once again. She had no idea why it kept getting into her mouth.

Involuntarily, she went to the dining room. If Margaret called her before, it was probably for the breakfast. The kitchen was more a place of work than the room where meals were eaten. That is why the family usually gathered in the dining room. Driven to this room, Deborah met George - their extremely bored cat. He discracted her attention enough that she couldn't hear the conversation in the dining room. She found out about the presence of some strangers when she put the cat on the floor and looked up. There were three men in the dining room - her father, a local Jewish jeweler and a young man, probably his son.

She stopped in the entrance to the room, paralyzed by confusion. Indeed, what she was wearing was more like underwear. Airy nightgown, undoubtedly transparent in this light. Besides, Deborah hadn't used a hairbrush yet, and there was an apple in her mouth. She took out it immediately and wiped her lips with the back of her hand when she felt the flowing saliva in the corners of her mouth.

The young man had been watching her from the very beginning. Deborah decided to do the same. She doubted that she would be able to look away from the face that should be in the museum of art. She didn't think she would ever describe a man as beautiful, but in this case she didn't see any other option. Because this man had a clear, almost flawless complexion. His face had rather mild features, but Deborah was able to see the outline of cheekbones and jawline. She even admired his shapely, slender nose and pink, plump lips. His eyes were the perfect complement to the whole - they were piercing Deborah’s silhouette throughout, wandered on her face and body. He watched her girlish curves, but he didn't lay his eyes upon there for too long. He was most interested in her face. Deborah wondered if he was seeing her the way she was seeing him - whether he thinks she is that beautiful, though at the beginning she rejected the option that anyone could match him.

Deborah heard a grunt. She looked away from the boy and glanced at her father. He was staring at her with a slight embarrassment, while the jeweler gazed at her face, curious about her next moves.

“Uh, good morning.” she muttered out and quickly withdrew from the dining room. For some reason, she looked back the last time. A beautiful boy followed her with his eyes until he was reprimanded by his father.

Deborah returned to the kitchen. Her face burned, and her cheeks took on the color of ripe raspberries.

“Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me about...” she pointed towards the dining room. “...them!” she asked reproachfully. She was aware that none of the men would quickly forget that situation. She doubted that she will get rid of it from her own memory. She has not felt such embarrassment for a long time.

“I didn’t?” Margaret raised her eyebrows, smiling in amusement. She shrugged. “I forgot.” she replied, and when Deborah let out a deep sigh, Margaret laughed loudly.

Deborah couldn't get rid of the young man's image out of her head. She couldn't get rid of the expression that accompanied him when he watched her. She couldn't decide what color his eyes were. Green or maybe gray? Or blue even?

“Who are they? I have the right to know, haven't I?” she said after some thought. Margaret was just kneading the dough. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving some flour there. Deborah went to her and wiped the white powder from her face.

“Don't you know Mr Solomons?” she glanced at her daughter and raised her eyebrows significantly. Deborah knew only that he ran a jewelry store. She was never too much interested in people whom she didn't have much contact with. “He came with his boy today. _Alfie_ , I think.” she added. “This kid must learn everything from him. He'll probably take over his father's business.”

“Mphm...” Deborah replied only, plunging in her own thoughts. She repeated, curious how the name of this beautiful man would sound in her mouth. “Alfie.”

 

*

 

Deborah bit her lip, standing in front of the jewelry store. Carrying out everyday affairs didn't usually cause her problems. However, the thought of what happened a few days ago, during the unlucky morning, filled her with an unusual nervousness. Besides, from the moment she saw Alfie Solomons, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his face - a delightful mouth and a nose that she liked so much.

She took a deep breath and moved forward. She pushed a heavy door, then walked deeper into the store, looking around with curiosity.  Mr Solomons appeared behind the counter. Instead of casting her confused or amused look, he smiled warmly, which she was grateful for.

“Good morning.” she was the first to say, approaching the counter.

“Good morning, Deborah.” Elder Solomons adjusted the glasses on his nose. “How can I help you?”

Deborah reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a necklace wrapped in a paper. She crumpled the paper and slipped it back into her pocket, then shifted the jewelry across the counter, toward Solomons. The man picked up necklace and looked at it.

“And what's the problem?” he asked, apparently not noticing any mistake he would have to fix. Indeed, the necklace didn't have any perceived defect. Except for what Deborah noticed after trying it on herself.

“It is too long for me.” she replied right after she realized that the question was addressed to her. “Mum said you can do something with it.”

Mr Solomons widened his friendly smile and nodded slowly. He even opened his mouth to say something, when another client turned his attention. Solomons glanced at him, nodded knowingly, and returned his eyes to Deborah.

“There is a room... my studio.” he turned not completely and pointed to the curtain behind his back. “You will find someone who can repair it there. And let me take care of this client, do you mind?”

“Not at all.” she smiled briefly and entered behind the counter. She glanced once more at the man, and when he smiled at her again, she crossed the next door more confidently. She didn't immediately find the room Mr Solomons mentioned. For this purpose, she had to go through a dark corridor from which individual rooms were leading. Most of them were empty, so Deborah naturally wondered what could they be used for. Soon, she reached the right room, from which a warm yellow light poured. She looked in. All she could see were the back of the man sitting at the table in the middle of the room. She cleared her throat. The man straightened up and looked over his shoulder. Deborah held her breath, feeling herself blushing. The boy's plump lips curved in a strange smile.

“Uhm...” Deborah hesitated, but eventually entered the room. She lifted the necklace to the right height so he could see the object.

Alfie raised his eyebrow questioningly. Deborah couldn't explain the irresistible urge to touch his face. It was perfect even when irregularly spaced lighting cast shadows on it, distorting beautiful features.

“Your father said I'll find someone here. Someone who can fix this. And it happen to be you, of course...” she added and made some uncertain steps toward the table. Alfie held out his hand, and she handed him the necklace. He looked at it in the same way as the older Solomons. He frowned, and Deborah repeated his gesture. For a moment she wondered if Alfie could speak at all.

“Fix this...” he repeated thoughtfully. Deborah hadn't thought before about how his voice sounded. But in some way she predicted the soft, warm timbre he actually had. Alfie looked up at her. “But what exactly?” he raised his eyebrows.

“It is too long.” she said again.

“Alright.” he nodded understandingly. He reached under the table and pulled out a small toolbox. Then he glanced at Deborah and stared at her for couple of minutes. “Sit there, eh?”

Deborah looked around unhurriedly, then took a chair from the opposite side of the table. Before she focused on Alfie's work, she examined the room closely. There were several shelves, a mass of crates and a fireplace, thanks to which the room was pleasantly warm. Only after that she began to follow Alfie's agile finger movements. Initially, he moved the next eyelets of the necklace between his fingertips, as if trying to find the right point.

“How much ‘ _too long_ ’?” he asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off the current job. He frowned in concentration, and Deborah could admit that she would look at this view for the rest of her life.

She pointed to the spot on her own cleavage. It was almost between her breasts. Alfie took a deep breath, blinked several times and looked up at Deborah's face.

“And how short is it supposed to be?” he asked after a moment. Deborah moved her finger a little higher, stopping it in the hollow between her collarbones. “Right.” he gasped.

Alfie returned to his previous actions. He glanced at the available toolbox, and when he found the right item, Deborah squeaked involuntarily. The view of something that resembled a small jaws caused her an unconditional reaction.

“What ‘s it?” Alfie asked, unmoved.

“This necklace is very precious to me.” she hurried with explanations. “I got it a few months ago. For my eighteenth birthday.”

“It ‘s lovely.” Alfie nodded in appreciation. “It'll come back to you, yeah? In one piece.” he assured and smiled with a little amusement. Deborah let out a theatrical sigh and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Alfie laughed softly, even if he didn't intend to.

Deborah was quiet as Alfie was divesting her necklace of three eyelets. He hesitated over the fourth, but eventually incised it with a more precise tool. Then he grabbed the jewelry in another tool, got up and went to the fireplace. Deborah watched his back again, as well as any other possible movements. She didn't see anything specific. Alfie crouched on the stone floor, grabbed a piece of thick material, maybe a felt, and he made several more moves. Then he put the necklace in some vessel next to him, which was filled with water. Contact with the cool liquid caused a quiet hiss. Immediately afterwards, Alfie returned to the table, wiping the jewelry with another piece of cloth.

“Let's check how it looks on you, yeah?” he smiled and stood behind Deborah.

She grasped her hair and lifted it so Alfie could wrap the necklace around her neck and fasten it on her scruff. When he took his hands away, Deborah let go of her hair. She moved her hand to the place where the pendant should be. She found it in the hollow between her collarbones.

“Shit. It's perfect.” she announced with a slight disbelief. She didn't think that someone could do such a job, make such accurate measurements with the help of the sense of sight only. “Thank you.” she looked up at him. Alfie smiled, folding his hands behind his back.

“Alfred.”

They both looked towards the entrance, where the voice came from. Mr Solomons stood there, looking at this two. Deborah rose sharply from the table, Alfie retreating to a safe distance. However, his father was still looking at them with dissatisfaction. Deborah felt strange with the fact that less than an hour ago, Mr Solomons was smiling warmly at her.

 

*

_Now._

 

Deborah looked instantly at Biagio. Probably because he forced her to, hitting the bottom of the glass to the table top in the dining room. He was never aware of his strength, so the glass shattered in his hand. Another Italian curse word left his lips when the sleeve of the white shirt became red. Unmoved, Deborah raised her glass to her lips and took a sip of a sweet drink.

“Edith!” he yelled and wrapped his fingers around his wrist to stop the bleeding. The bleeding wasn't that abundant to cause so much panic. Deborah snorted under her breath at the thought of how powerful Biagio thought he was, and how he behaved in such prosaic situations.

The summoned servant rushed to help. Benjamin watched everything, but in no way expressed fear or anxiety. He was simply interested in a new experience, an event he never seen before. He tilted his head to the side, watching how the situation would unfold with fascination. Biagio went to the kitchen, led by Edith. The poor woman rolled her eyes - she couldn't understand such a reaction of an adult man either. Benjamin sighed heavily and returned to the food, though now it was more like pecking in the plate.

“What is it, Benny?” Deborah glanced at him, raising her eyebrow.

“Will he die?” he asked.

“No, of course not. You don't have to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried, mum.”

 _What does that mean?_ she thought. When he started eating again, Deborah was staring at him without the same smile as before. She wondered about the genesis of these thoughts in her little boy's head. She never thought that he could be different from the rest of the children. But he was in some way. Sometimes he seemed extremely intelligent to her, sensitive, maybe a bit too mature for his age. _He knew_.

Biagio returned to the dining room with a dressing on his palm.

“Don't think that you will get away with it.” he spoke. Deborah stopped eating and looked at him. She wasn't even surprised. But she was tired of his constant threats. “You've been so absent-minded lately. Since that faint. You are a little different.” he stated, shaking his head. “Maybe you should see the doctor.”

“What for?” she asked blankly.

Biagio sighed heavily and grabbed the knife. He drove the blade into the meat on his plate. Then he leaned back in his chair and put his eyes at Deborah.

“You must do something for me.” he said after a long silence. Deborah looked at him. “I have a meeting and I have to be in other place then. And Mr Solomons is supposedly too busy...”

“So from now on I'm involved in your business? How lovely.” she smiled artificially.

“You're the only person around who can arrange it for me. And watch your mouth.” he said warningly. “You just have to hand me over the papers. You won't understand any of them anyway. I will inform him that you'll come.”

“Sure.” Deborah replied. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Since the last meeting with Alfie ended with a minor catastrophe, she was afraid that this time it will not be any different.


	4. Precious Doll

_Eleven years earlier._

 

Deborah opened her eyes, meeting the dark ceiling of her bedroom. She frowned, wondering if what he was hearing was some sort of hallucination. It seemed to her that something from time to time slammed into the window. Short pauses divided the sounds of quiet, single taps.

She took the quilt away from her legs and left the bed. She went to the window with a slow step and opened it without hesitation. Right after that, she looked at the street hidden in the dark. Her eyes got used to the darkness, since she was moving without the light from the awakening. Thanks to this she was able to see the silhouette nearby. She frowned.

“Alfie?” she whispered, but loud enough for him to hear her. Deborah's bedroom was on the first floor. “What are you doing here?” she asked, smiling broadly. She wasn't sure if his appearance was a good idea. However, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of Alfie. She felt a strange warmth, happiness and incomprehensible excitement.

“I missed you too much, I’m afraid.” he shrugged helplessly. “Come ‘ere, doll. I would like to ‘ave a better view of you.”

“Are you joking? My father will kill you. And then he'll kill me.” she raised her eyebrows with conviction. But one Alfie's smile was enough for Deborah to make a quick decision. She laughed, shaking her head, then closed the window. Putting on something more decent than a nightgown would take too much time, so she grabbed a warm sweater and also shoes and went quietly down.

Deborah could understand why Alfie preferred to meet her at night. She could expected this from the very beginning, when mister Solomons expressed his dissatisfaction due to Alfie and Deborah's closeness that day at his studio. He didn't like the fact that these two were alone in one room. Deborah knew it was hard for Jewish boys in this regard - there was a rule that Deborah couldn't understand. She was almost certain that Alfie's father was restricting his son as _Halacha_ required.

Deborah got out of the house, gently closing the door behind her. She looked at the waiting Alfie and once again smiled extremely wide.

“Hi there.” she whispered. The area was exceptionally quiet. Deborah bet it was three in the morning.

“Good evening. ‘ello.” he said. He made a few unhurried steps toward her. He looked at her exposed legs and shook his head slowly, taking a deep breath. He was one of the few who didn't react to seeing a scrap of flesh like animals. Alfie was composed, and even if he liked Deborah for obvious reasons, he didn't show it in a way that would offend her. He had never been with any woman before, but he could say that he loved the human body. He has saw it in paintings, and he couldn't pass art indifferently.

“I didn’t have that much time.” Deborah rolled her eyes. “Dad will be up soon. And I told you what he will do when he sees us together...” she paused, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Enough talk, in this case.” he stated and turned away, moving forward along the sidewalk. Deborah pulled her sweater tighter and followed him, then catching up with him.

 

*

 

Alfie knew the area much better than Deborah. She didn't live here as long as he did, and she never felt the need to reviewed the places the town offered. Most often she traveled with her father to Birmingham or sat over books, deepening the art of reading.

They went to calmer regions where there was a much smaller number of people. Meadows, lonely copses and the beach - they created a wonderful landscape, as well as an ideal place to be. It was the beach that was the destination Alfie chose. Before entering the sand, Deborah took off her shoes and let her feet submerge in cool, golden grains. A light wind was blowing her hair, reaching to the edge of her nightgown, setting the fabric in motion. The shimmering waves were hitting the shore calmly.

“This is...” Deborah took a deep breath. She was not sure if she could express in words what she felt about the beauty of the place. “Breathtaking.”

Alfie appeared next to her. He also looked at the distant horizon and smiled gently. Deborah glanced at him - she had seen so many of his smiles, but this one was different from every others. That smile expressed calmness, and Alfie seemed rested having it on his face.

“And that’s why I wanted to take you ‘ere, right?” Alfie said. He took off his coat, which he had worn - even summer mornings were chilly - and threw it on the sand. He pointed at his creation as if it was a magic trick, and Deborah laughed, shaking her head.

They both sat on a makeshift blanket. Alfie stretched out his legs and rested his elbows on the sand somewhere behind his back. Deborah had been seeing him in slightly different ways. He worked in a shop where he was sitting at the table, repairing jewelry. And in the company of his father, he was walking straight and listened attentively to all teachings and commands. But now she had a entirely different Alfie beside - completely happy, relaxed Alfie.

Deborah crossed her legs and leaned over the edge of the coat. She sank her hand in the sand and grabbed some of it. Just after that the sand poured out through her fingers.

“Alfie?” she spoke, this time drawing unidentified shapes on a soft surface.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he took a curious look at her. Deborah also glanced at him and smiled softly.

“Do you think you can foretell the future?”

“Nah. I don't 'fink so.” he frowned. Deborah was silent for a moment, then laid back on her side, never taking her eyes off Alfie. Now he was looking down at her.

“Have you ever tried?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Alfie parted his lips, but eventually gave up. He only shook his head. “Try now. Close your eyes.” she instructed. Alfie blinked several times, looking at Deborah, as if she told him to do something ridiculous. “Off you go.” she pressed on. Alfie decided to fulfill her request. He smiled with slight amusement. Deborah also lifted the corners of her mouth. She rested on her elbow so that she was at the same height as Alfie.” What do you see?

Alfie let the air out from between his lips and frowned. Then he lifted his chin a little, as if he actually saw something. Deborah watched him with the same smile as before.

“I see a girl. A woman.” he said after some thought. “But she is blonde.” he added in a serious tone. Then he opened one eye and, unable to resist, widen his lips in a bright smile.

“Bloody clairvoyant.” Deborah shook her head and pinched Alfie's cheek. He laughed, rubbing a bit sore place. “I can not believe I intended to give you a reward.” she sighed theatrically.

“Give me a what?” Alfie raised his eyebrows.

“It seems to me that you'll never know.” she shrugged and turned her gaze to the sea. “Unless...” she smiled maliciously, then looked at Alfie again. “Unless you ask nicely.”

“Mphm, I see...” he narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Please. Tell me, my precious doll. My little _Debee_.”

Deborah smiled with superiority. She moved closer to Alfie's face. She glanced at his lips, then looked into his eyes. Alfie held his breath, too enchanted by the nearness of Deborah. Soon, she kissed his lips lightly, barely perceptible, until she clung to them for longer. They were as soft as she expected. Alfie put his hand on her cheek, and then he slipped it into Deborah's hair.

 

*

_Now._

 

Biagio left early in the morning. He didn't inform Deborah when he'll return, but it didn't belong to her worries. She was only thinking about the fact that in a few hours she would have to see Alfie. On the one hand, she was excited in some way - she missed him, she missed the sense of security that was associated with his presence.

Taking advantage of her husband's absence, Deborah put a little more effort into preparation. She didn't want to seduce Alfie, none of these things. She just liked to look good. She liked her body, she liked to show it, until Biagio began to leave effects of punishment on it.

She put on a flowery dress, since the spring weather allowed her to reveal a bit of her body. She hid the fading bruises and used her favorite perfume - a gift from Ada. She left her hair in their natural disarray. Deborah considered whether she should bring Benjamin with her. She was afraid to leave him alone, although she fully trusted every member of the service. She usually took him with her everywhere. With the exception for the evening meetings with Ada. She knew, however, that introducing the boy to Alfie wouldn't be the best move.

She said good-bye to Benjamin. She kissed his cheeks, and barely let her out of her embrace. She promised to come back as soon as possible, but Benjamin didn't seem particularly sad about it.

“Alrightie.” he said. “I will be waiting for you here, if you want!” he offered cheerfully.

“There's no need, Benny.” she smiled, stroking his cheek again. “Just don't go too far away from home, okay? Edith will keep an eye on you.”

Benjamin nodded, and Deborah made one more kiss, this time on the boy's forehead. She reached for her coat and beret, and left the house. Jeffrey was already waiting in the car. Deborah let out a sigh of relief when she saw him. He was the only member of the Biagio's mafia, whom she had any sympathy for.

“So where are we going?” he asked, opening the door to Deborah. She frowned. She was sure that Biagio had informed the right people about everything.

“To Camden Town.”

 

*

_Eleven years earlier._

 

Alfie took his hand from Deborah's eyes, so she automatically looked at what was just in front of her. Alfie kept a possible place and activities, which he planned for their meeting, in a secret.

“What is this?” she asked with a wide smile, looking at Alfie standing behind her.

“This, my dear, ‘s a car.” he replied in a haughty tone, and Deborah rolled her eyes and poked him with her elbow.

“I know what it is.” she corrected, unable to stop a smile. “But... what for?”

“Get in.” he instructed. “Behind the wheel.”

Deborah looked at Alfie, frowning. Her lips parted, and for a long moment she stared at him without saying a word. She didn't even know where she should start. So far she was sure that Alfie wouldn't surprise her anymore. But he did. Almost every day.

Deborah approached the Ford T. She studied the vehicle and disbelievingly ran her hand over the black car body.

“And you will let me drive this thing?” Deborah blinked several times to ward off the tears. She felt touched by Alfie's gesture.

“‘Course I’ll let you drive this thing.” he said confidently. Then he looked at Deborah's face with obvious concern. “What happened, doll?” he asked, placing his hands on her cheeks.

“I have no idea.” she shrugged, sniffing. “It's just... nobody has ever done such a thing for me.”

“I just want to show you somfing. Teach you new things. 'Cause why wouldn't I?” he smiled warmly and kissed tenderly top of Deborah's nose.

“No, it's something bigger than this.” she shook her head. “You let me drive. You let me take control. And I'm...  _a woman_.”

Alfie smiled softly and shook his head almost imperceptibly. He brushed off the strands of hair that were sticking to Deborah's wet cheeks, then stroked her skin with his thumbs.

“You are _a woman_. A mad one.” he stated.

 

*

_Now._

 

Jeffrey's grunt snatched Deborah from the depths of her memories. She looked at the driver a bit more soberly.

“We are here.”

“Thank you, Jeffrey.” she replied and left the car.

Alfie Solomons' bakery was a sizeable red brick building, like most of the constructions in this area. It wasn't the most interesting object Deborah ever seen, but she wanted to be inside as soon as possible. She was full of several conflicting feelings - she wanted to see Alfie, but at the same time she prayed that he would be busy enough to cancel the meeting. Then Biagio could meet him personally.

Deborah approached the entrance. Jeffrey was walking right past her, looking around. He was there as protection, but Deborah doubted that anyone would attack her. They both went inside. Deborah glanced around the first room. It was a narrow, long corridor with the doors on each side of the walls. A tall man with a mild, bit scared face came out of one of rooms behind these doors.

“Can I help you..?” he asked suspiciously. Jeffrey took a breath before the intended explanations, but Deborah cleared her throat.

“Deborah Castellano.” she introduced herself and held out a hand toward the man. He shook it uncertainly. “I came to mister Solomons. By the order of Biagio Castellano.” she explained, refraining from rolling her eyes. She doubted that the man was afraid in any way, but Deborah wanted to do everything to make him feel a bit more comfortable. So she smiled warmly.

Another door opened. Alfie Solomons appeared in the hallway himself. He frowned, albeit Deborah thought his expression accompanies him constantly. He pursed his lips, his nostrils widened with a deep breath. He stroked his beard.

“Let ‘em in, Ollie.” he waved his hand indifferently. Deborah moved ahead without hesitation, even if she couldn't look at Alfie's face without burning feeling inside of her. So she looked down, going through to his office. As Jeffrey approached the entrance, Alfie folded his arms and slowly looked up until he stuck it in Jeffrey's face. “Ya stay ‘ere, sweetie. Yeah?” he smiled insincerely. Without waiting for Jeffrey's reply, he returned to the room and closed the door behind him. “Fucking colossus.”

Deborah looked around again. With the change of the surroundings, she felt an increasing need to get acquainted with it. Alfie's office didn't stand out from anything special, but Deborah would spend long hours in it.

“What are you doing ‘ere?” he asked, staring at her like at a creature that simply does not exist. Deborah turned and looked at him. Alfie's astonishment confirmed her belief that Biagio hadn't informed anyone of his replacement.

“I came for some... papers?” she said hesitantly. “Biagio-...”

“Biagio.” Alfie repeated. “Right.”

He went to the desk and pulled out one of the drawers. He didn't have to rummage in it, after a while he got out a pile of papers. Deborah watched him. His silhouette, movements, concentrated face expression. She noticed some changes not only on his face, but also in his behavior. In the past he seemed much calmer, now he looked as if something was constantly bothering him. Wanting to turn her thoughts a bit, she drew attention to his hands. To rings that decorated his fingers. He never wore them before. But in the accompaniment of jewelry and small tattoos Alfie's hands looked fabulous.

“There ya go. Yer fucking papers.” he put them on the desk, before he took his place. Deborah glanced at the pages, but she dared not reach for them. Not when Alfie looked at her... in this way. “Ya alright?” he asked, stroking his beard again.

Deborah blinked several times. She didn't know what Alfie meant. She pouted her lips to make a question, but quickly remembered that she had lost consciousness during their last meeting. She sighed heavily and nodded.

“Yes. Yes...” she cleared her throat. “Everything's fine, I'm just...”

“Ya were just exhausted, that’s all.” he finished for her. “And little achy. Or am I blind? Ya must really love him, right, if ya let him do ‘his things to you, mate.” he smiled broadly and shook his head in amusement. Deborah didn't even understand why his words affected her in some way. She looked away and took an uneven breath. “And you will cry now? Don’t act like a little girl. Fucking ‘ell.”

“What is your problem, Alfie? Maybe you'll feel better if we talk about it. You know, solve this together.” she asked with unwanted but involuntary sarcasm, even if she came here with a friendly attitude. At least she tried. “You blaming me for how we both ended up? Or what is it?”

“And ‘ow did we end up? Enlighten me.” he opened his eyes wider. “I, darling, I am a free man. I can do what I fucking want, yeah? And you...” he paused and eyed Deborah with disgust. “You are just a toy. A worthless thing for another fucking wop.”

Deborah parted her lips, staring at him. She expected a lot, but never thought that she would hear something like that. Not from a man she trusted. But it was a long time ago, and Alfie certainly wasn't the same person she remembered.

“What the hell happened to you? You were sweet. And charming. And now? Where is _my_ Alfie?” she threw out of herself under the influence of emotions. If she thought about it longer, these words would never leave her mouth. Alfie wasn't hers anymore.

“Yer Alfie, eh? He’s fucking dead, mate.” he replied expressionless. Deborah moistened her lips and shook her head. She was aware that she was too emotionally unstable right now to speak with any sense. She stood up suddenly.

“You were completely different last time I saw you.”

“You were completely in love with me last time I saw you.” he said indifferently. Deborah didn't say a word. She clenched her lips and headed to the exit from Alfie's office.

 

*

 

After returning home, Deborah couldn't find the right place for herself. The memory of Alfie was destroyed and replaced by a rotten, disgusting man whom she never wanted to know.

She left the documents in the Biagio office, then made the call to Ada's house. She wasn't sure what she needed now. However, the company sounded good enough.

“Ada, thank God.” she sighed heavily.

“Debby.” she said surprised. “Something happened?”

Deborah fell silent. _What actually happened?_ She couldn't answer that question to herself, let alone someone who did not even know the situation. Although Deborah had been friends with Ada from a long time, she never told her about Alfie.

“Can we come to your place? Biagio has left, I am alone and...”

“Of course! We always got room for you.” Ada said straight away. “Polly will be delighted. She hasn't seen you for a long time.”

“I can’t wait to see you.” she smiled with difficulty. Benjamin appeared at the entrance to the room. “Listen, Ada” she cleared her throat. “I gotta go. We'll be there soon, okay?”

“Just be careful.” she said. Deborah nodded, and despite the fact that Ada couldn’t see it, she hung up.

Benjamin went into the room when he realized that his mother had finished the conversation. He stared worriedly at Deborah's face, frowning.

“Mum? You were crying?” he asked, tilting his head. “Don't be sad.” he grabbed her hand. Deborah smiled and stroked the boy's cheek.

“I am not.” she denied, shaking her head. She got up from her seat and knelt before her son. “We'll visit aunt Polly and Ada, what do you say?” she raised an eyebrow. Benjamin nodded hurriedly, but his face remained unchanged. “Let's pack your things, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to share your thoughts :~)


	5. The End of Last Night

_Eleven years earlier._

 

Deborah got out of the car and looked around familiar surroundings. Beloved Birmingham has always welcomed her with open arms - she felt like she had lived here since forever. That's why she accompanied her father every time he had something to do there. Whenever he asked if he wanted to go with him, Deborah made the same decision since she was ten. She had a choice of sitting in the kitchen and learning the secrets of her mother's cooking or she could get out of the house and see something more than the corners of her own town, which in short was a hole.

“Thank you, Polly. I’m grateful that she can stay here.” he said. Robert Rouby had been saying this every time he left Deborah under the care of Polly. He and Polly were good friends. And although Deborah didn't know the details or the beginning of their relation, she was able to say that they were quite close. They had always been connected by a quite strong bond.

“You are doing me a favor, you know that well.” Polly replied and put her arm around Deborah, pressing her to herself in mother's gesture. “I have too many men around. A woman will be useful here.” she glanced at Deborah and winked at her knowingly.

When Robert left, Polly took Deborah inside. Deborah loved being with her aunt - because that's how Polly wanted to be called. She loved the atmosphere that prevailed in Polly's house and the way she treated her. She didn't try to be her mother. She wasn't overprotective, overly caring, but not completely indifferent. It was thanks to Polly that Deborah knew how alcohol tasted, but nevertheless Polly was always careful in connection with her assumed niece.

“Owh, everyone! Take a fookin look! All of ya!” she heard Arthur's loud voice. “Our little Debby girl!”

Arthur ran closer, then embraced Deborah, lifting her a little above the ground. He usually had been reacting in this way. Differently than Thomas or John. John kept his hands in his pockets, smiling as if he knew something that the others didn't. And Tommy was completely quiet, barely noticeably lifting the corners of his mouth. Finn, as part of the welcome, most often wrapped his arms around Deborah's waist and squeezed her tightly. Deborah loved to spend time at Polly's also because of that. A full, loud house was something she secretly dreamed of. She liked that. The feeling of being part of something bigger, a bit more complicated than a family of three. She had no siblings herself.

 

*

 

“So” Polly began, glancing at Deborah with a smile. Deborah was peeling potatoes. Polly didn't force her anything, and she cooked terribly, so Deborah had always been voluntarily helping her in the kitchen, since she had the skills herself. Deborah's mother taught her cooking and baking. “Who is this boy?”

“What boy?” she frowned. She couldn't bring herself to look at Polly. If she did, Polly would certainly have noticed the change on Deborah's face. Until now she was calm, but when Polly asked, Deborah blushed.

“The one you are seeing with.” she raised her eyebrows. Deborah's cheeks were not just red. They were burning now. She closed her eyes and let out a restless breath. She finally looked at Polly.

“How do you know?”

“Aunt Polly knows everything.” she shrugged and put the cigarette back in her mouth.

“He is...” Deborah hesitated. “...a nice boy from the area. He treats me well.” she added hastily. She knew that this information interested Polly the most. “But his father is a hard case. So we don't plan our future together.”

“Oh?” Polly raised her eyebrow. “So what are you two doing?”

“We enjoy each other as long as we can, I guess.”

 

*

 

After dinner, everyone would spend time in the garden. Not every time. Sometimes Polly took Deborah, Ada and Finn to the city. Another time, Deborah wandered the local meadows and forests in the company of Arthur, Tommy, John and Ada. Tommy agreed reluctantly, just because Polly asked him for it. However, this time they chose the garden, since the weather allowed.

Finn was running around the lawn looking for insects, in particular butterflies or ladybugs. Arthur watched him, sitting at a wooden table near the back entrance of the house. Polly was in the kitchen, announcing beforehand that she would make tea. Ada and Deborah were sitting on the blanket, and John - not really interested in the rest of the world - was in the company of girls. He was lying, his head on Deborah's thighs. He chewed a toothpick in his mouth.

“I've heard you talkin' with Polly about some nice boy.” he spoke, but did not raise his eyelids. The sun would then reach out to his eyes. “My fingers aren't good enough for you? You need something new?” he smirked mischievously. Deborah rolled her eyes, but could not help smiling.

“It happened once.” she protested. “In addition, last year.”

“Twice.” he corrected, raising his eyebrows. Ada watched these two in disgust. John and Deborah were the same age, so both older than Ada. They were connected by a certain bond that was hardly to understand.

Deborah took a deep breath and shook her head, studying John's freckled face. She ran her finger over the scar on his chin.

“My beautiful, beautiful boy.” she said tenderly, slapping her fingertip against the tip of his nose. When John received enough attention, Deborah glanced at Arthur. “Where's Tommy?” she inquired, realizing that she hadn't had a chance to ask about it before.

“In Blackpool, doorlin’” Arthur replied.

“Blackpool? What for?” she frowned in astonishment.

“With his lass.” John interjected. “What was her name, Arthur?”

“Grettie.”

“Yeah. Greta.”

 

*

_Now._

 

A familiar building emerged from the depths of the evening. Ada's estate wasn't located in the city, but in its outskirts, so there was a lot of greenery around. No slightest noise disturbed the peace and quiet prevailing here. There was not a single car, not counting the one which Deborah left. She took her suitcase, helped drowsy Benjamin to get off and told Jeffrey that they would stay here for a few days, so he should go home. Then she went to the entrance.

“Hello, Benny!” Ada smiled broadly at the boy. “I'll take you to Finn and Karl, alright? And John's boys are also here.”

Benjamin nodded. Ada picked up his suitcase and moved ahead into the house. Deborah took a deep breath, got rid of her coat, and left her luggage in the hallway. Right after that she came across Polly.

“Did you convoke the whole family?” Deborah smiled slightly. Polly embraced her and stroked her back.

“Esme wanted to see you. So John dropped off her and kids.”

Both went to the living room. Esme struggled to get up from the couch and made some hurried steps to reach Deborah. Deborah always thought that John was lucky when he met Esme. She stood out against the other women who were part of the Shelby family. The attracting wildness and desire for freedom was still lurking in her. And despite the apparent tiredness caused by another pregnancy, she looked wonderful.

“You look like a shit.” the first words that came out of Esme's mouth. Deborah laughed softly, returning her long hug. “What are we doing today? Complaining about this fucking Italian again?”

“Oh, no.” Deborah shook her head. “Today we can get drunk without a reason, I think.” she said with a significant smile. Esme didn't mind, and the expression on her face indicated that.

“What are we drinking, ladies?” Polly interjected. She was standing by the stock of alcohols.

 

*

 

Deborah couldn't remember the reason why she found herself on the carpet. One thing she knew for sure - it was comfortable enough to stay there. Polly occupied the chair, Esme sprawled out on the couch, leaving enough room for Ada to sit there. The evening proceeded according to plan.

“They say it is hard to keep up with a woman.” Earlier, she managed to light another cigarette. Clouds of smoke hovered over their heads. “But has anyone ever tried to understand men? No. And you know why?”

“Cause it's fucking impossible!” Esme shouted with amusement. Polly nodded her head in agreement, as if Esme had just uttered one of the Ten Commandments.

“Just... look at Thomas.” Polly carried on. She inhaled with smoke before she continued. “He is a collection of mechanisms hard to disarm. Even after talking to him, it is not clear what he meant. He has his little world in his head. Something he doesn't show to anybody.”

“He also believes he can get everything done with his cock.” Ada added with distaste.

“But... is he wrong?” Deborah asked, staring at the ceiling. “He solved a lot of problems...”

The room was quiet for a moment. Polly, Ada and Esme looked at each other with the knowledge that there was some truth in it. The silence lasted until Deborah laughed without reason. The rest of the women joined, and none of them had any idea why they were laughing.

“And what about the others?” Esme asked.

“Arthur has always been charming. He still is.” Deborah said when they all managed to cool off.

“Good that Linda couldn't make it today.” Ada noticed. “Otherwise she would... put you down.”

“How?” she frowned. “With a crucifix and holy water?”

Deborah didn't mind Linda. If Arthur found peace at her side and he felt happy with her, Deborah had no right to complain. Still, being in the company of Linda was not her favorite activity. Linda seemed forever tense, she didn't always understand Deborah's sense of humor, so Deborah tried to avoid her. For the sake of Linda and herself.

“We must slow down a bit.” Esme wiped away a tear that ruined her makeup in part. “What can we say about John?”

“We're talking about my brothers, for fuck's sake.” Ada seemed disgusted again. “I don't know why I participate in this at all.”

“Ah, John...” said Deborah. She narrowed her eyes and pouted her lips. “He is perfect, isn't he?” she fluttered her eyelashes, casting Esme a meaningful look.

“And _he’s big_.” Esme added. Deborah laughed loudly once again. It was only after a longer moment that Ada grimaced with loathing.

“That’s disgusting, Esme.” she stated. Then she laughed, no matter how much she wanted to remain unmoved.

Deborah glanced from one to the other - at Ada, Polly and Esme, and was getting more and more convinced that she would give her life for them. They could make her happy. Even for a short moment.

 

*

 

Deborah couldn't recall the end of last night. However, she learned that the attempts to reach that far in memory intensified the headache. She did not remember when she had drank so much alcohol lately. She had never felt like this before - and she felt like she fell under the train. The sun irritated her eyes mercilessly, causing even more nausea. Each sound was sharp and painful like a nail. Like a nail hammering in her temples.

Deborah left the temporary bedroom and went downstairs. Polly was busy in the kitchen. She didn't even care if she made irritating sounds, but she managed to move silently. Deborah wondered if this was due to years of practice, or perhaps a completely effortless, acquired caution, which was useful not only in the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Deborah tried to smile, though what appeared on her face was rather a crooked grimace. She sat at the table and propped her cheek in her hand. “Where is everyone?”

“John took Esme and the kids early in the morning. Ada’s still sleeping.” Polly replied. She filled two cups with boiling water, then brought them to the table. She gave Deborah one and put her hands over hers. She lifted the cup to her lips. “I can ask the boys to straighten this thing out a bit.” she raised her eyebrows significantly. Deborah realized after a moment that she probably got rid of the make-up quite accidentally. So Polly saw her bruise in all its glory.

“It's nothing.” Deborah shrugged off. She reached for the cup and took a sip of incredibly strong, bitter tea. She winced, lowering her eyelids. “But this... this is awful.”

“To the bottom. It's for your health.” Polly smiled and took a sip of her tea. “So” she began, pushing the cup away from her lips. “Any nightmares this night?”

Polly knew well about Deborah's recurring ailment. Even as a teenager, she had nightmares that didn't matter much. Still, after each of them something happened, which, in general, was rather natural. Death of a friend, drastic deterioration of weather conditions. And although Deborah was in no way associated with it, her mind seemed to be sending signals for a while before the big occurrence. In addition, she often dreamed about the death of her mother. As if she was unconsciously returning to this event. Probably because it changed her a lot. Her, her father and the whole perception of the surroundings.

“No. Fortunately not. So no one will die, no forest will burn. We are safe. Hurray.” Deborah rolled her eyes.

“What a shame.” Polly shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off Deborah. “Because there are a few people who could disappear. I was hoping for some bad news from our medium.”

“For God's sake. I'm not-...”

“Don't be using God's name in vain.” Polly interrupted. “Our blood flows in your veins. I can feel it.”

Deborah sighed helplessly. She wondered if Polly had already sobered up. Because she had no reason to believe Polly actually did.

Deborah couldn't be sure how she looked herself, but after seeing Ada she guessed that no one could look worse. There was a tangle of jet-black hair on her head, and there were leftovers of smudged make-up beneath her eyes. Ada moved slowly and carelessly, wrapping herself with the red, stretched sweater.

“How come you can handle all this?” she asked, wincing at the sound of her own voice. “I mean... you're quite old. And you're doing so well. _Well_? Pff, what I'm talking about. The best of all of us.”

Polly didn't seem offended in any way. She only laughed, shaking her head.

“Maybe I'm old.” she said. “But I'm smarter than you think.”

Ada knew the recipe for Polly's tea well enough to refuse a cup of it. She took a glass and filled it with boiled water, so as to moisten her sore throat. She leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter. Soon, they all heard the door slam from the hallway. Ada frowned - she didn't expect guests, certainly not at this hour.

Arthur looked into the kitchen. Deborah smiled broadly at him. Lately, she didn't have enough time to see him. Not only with him, but Arthur especially devoted himself to other matters than family meetings. Everything was related to Linda, of course.

“I heard that I’ll find ya here!” he said with audible enthusiasm.

“Arthur, please.” Ada snarled. “Four times quieter if you were that kind. Thanks.”

“Oh yes.” he laughed. “I also heard about what happened here. Noice. Very noice.”

He stepped a little closer and looked at Deborah again, smiling warmly. She stood up, and Arthur put his cap on her head. He pulled the cap on Deborah's eyes, and she giggled like a teenager that Arthur knew.

“Ya've grown, haven’t ya.”

“Of course!” Deborah lifted the brim of the cap and looked at him. “We haven't seen each other for a month or more. I can swear that the only thing that has grown is the circumference of my thigh.” she said jokingly, but with conviction.

Arthur laughed once again. Immediately after, he embraced Deborah and unexpectedly picked her up, as was his custom.

 

*

 

Deborah spent the whole weekend at Ada's place. There was also Polly, who appeared every day. She explained it by the fact that in recent times Deborah has visited Shelby family less and less often. Polly was right, but since Biagio had become more possessive, Deborah had been slipping away from home only during his absence.

When the time came to return home, Deborah reluctantly said goodbye to everyone. Even Esme came to Ada that day to see Deborah for the last time in the nearest future. They were all aware that she wouldn't appear again soon.

Biagio also managed to return. He waited for the arrival of Deborah and Benjamin. And even though she didn't tell him about leaving, he did not look angry. He smiled when she left the car, and also when she walked toward him.

“Welcome home, _amore_.” he spoke and kissed Deborah's cheek. He took her luggage and brought it inside. Deborah followed him, getting rid of her coat.

“When did you come back?” she asked and glanced at Benjamin. The boy left the suitcase in the hallway and went deep into the house. She returned her gaze to Biagio.

“This morning. I couldn't wait to see you.” he was still accompanied by the same smile that, despite everything, made Deborah sick. “How's the Solomons case?”

Deborah took a deep breath. Just now she felt the need to give herself air. She could say right away that everything went as it should. She got documents, nothing more. She did what Biagio asked her to do. But besides, the mind attacked her with memories of the evening from a few days ago. By the way, it reminded her that her dearest, her Alfie, had become another unintelligible creature. A creature who felt disgusted with Deborah. And this broke her heart again.

“Documents are in your office.” she breathed heavily. “Is that all, my love? I would like to take a bath.”

“One more thing actually.” Biagio smiled. “Solomons will come here tomorrow.” he said. Deborah did her best not to express how she felt about this information. She held her breath, but despite all her efforts, she felt her heart pounding in her chest. These impacts were almost painful when it reached her battered ribs. “I thought he could have dinner with us. Since we run some business together...”

“And he agreed?” she asked hastily, almost interrupting into Biagio's statement. He frowned when Deborah's question seemed very preposterous.

“Of course he did. Why wouldn't he?”

“Exactly.” she said after thinking, putting on a calm smile. “Why wouldn’t he...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, bUT WHY NOBODY IS COMMENTING??? IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG  
> please, I'm desperate


	6. Son of My Right Hand

The weather was good at the beginning of the morning – the sun rays were peering into individual rooms, breaking through the windows and stroking the faces of the household members. Outside, more and more birds appeared, and the trees and shrubs stood calmly, unmoved by the slightest breeze. Deborah couldn't sit still at home in this state of affairs. She didn't plan a trip to the city, a long walk neither. The garden at the back of the house was enough for her.

Deborah loved to spend her time in the garden. She had lived near the street since she was a child, so her parents couldn't afford to have their own backyard. Besides, they loved the city, so they didn't feel the need to live close to the greenery. Gray buildings, sad streets – they were what Margaret and Robert Rouby felt best about. But Deborah always wanted something more. And although she wasn't related to Polly through blood, she claimed that Deborah had a gypsy need to feel freedom, otherwise she would suffocate.

Deborah loved flowers. She not only admired their beauty, which undoubtedly brought satisfaction. First of all, she liked to care of them – to dig in the soil, replant them from place to place, watch it grow, irrigate properly, and also get rid of pests.

Immediately after breakfast, she decided to go to the part of the garden where fruits and vegetables were usually found. Plants were just about to come to life, for the time being only bare, slightly frozen ground was visible. Then Deborah went to her own refuge – in late spring, summer, and early autumn it was really greeny here. Deborah preferred to be among all those colorful flowers and plants, than inside the house. In general, her house seemed too gloomy, not only in winter or autumn.

“Mum!” she heard Benjamin's voice behind her. She looked back at the boy and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Imperceptibly, she breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that Benjamin was safe and sound. He came closer, and because Deborah was already kneeling, getting rid of weed remnants, Benjamin lowered his hands.

“What do you have there?” she asked, pulling off the dirt-stained gloves. She looked at the boy's hands. Inside, there was a bird. It wasn't anything extraordinary – not too big, black with yellow beak. A blackbird probably. And although Deborah had always considered all kinds of animals as friends and allies, she couldn't convince herself to birds. It wasn't that she did not like them. She was simply afraid of them. “A bird. Did you just catch... a bird?”

“I found it.” Benjamin said in a calm but defensive tone. “He was sitting on the grass. Uhm, over there!” he turned and nodded to the lawn a few meters away. “He cannot fly. Can I take him home? We have to do something!”

Deborah raised an eyebrow and looked closely at her son.

“You sure you only _‘found’_ it?” she asked.

“Of course I only **found** him!” he nodded hastily. “What do you suspect me about? You think I stole him from the nest? Why the hell do I need a fucking bird?”

“What did you just say?!” Deborah opened her eyes wider.

“A bird?”

“No. Before _a bird._ ”

She watched her child's face for a moment. And she was completely shocked. Her little, sweet boy has started using words that came to her completely naturally. But Deborah was a grown woman. She was sure, however, that she would never say anything similar in the presence of Benjamin.

“It was John, wasn't it? Or maybe Arthur? Oh my God, Tommy? No, it is not possible.” she shook her head slowly. Benjamin laughed loudly, making sounds that rewarded all curses, and then went towards the entrance to the house. He was only a child and already playing with her, testing the limits of her patience. “Fucking John Shelby.” Deborah breathed helplessly, pursing her lips.

 

*

 

The smells from the kitchen indicated that the dinner was coming up. Deborah told Armand that their guest was eating according to different rules. Armand preferred to experiment, so unfamiliar smells scattered all over the house. It even reached the bathroom, where Deborah currently was. She was sitting in the bathtub, holding a glass of whiskey. Only a few days ago, she promised herself that she would not touch alcohol in the near future. However, she needed to relax before the next meeting with Alfie.

Before entering the bedroom, Deborah brought the edge of the glass to her lips and tilted it, pouring the remains of the drink into her throat. She met Biagio in the room. He was standing in front of her dresser, looking at the cosmetics Deborah was usually using.

“Clever.” he said, lifting the packet of powdered pigment. He turned and looked at her. “It will be useful for you today. I really care about cooperation with Solomons. So you have to be a good girl.” he said, approaching Deborah slowly. “Because recently you really disappointed me with your unexpected trip.” he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Deborah held her breath, but she couldn't look away from Biagio's brown, magnetizing eyes.

“I was at Ada's.” she finally gave up. She shrugged indifferently and lowered her eyes for a moment. When she lifted them again on her husband's face, he smiled in a way that caused an unpleasant shudder on Deborah's body.

“You're always at Ada's, aren't you?” he raised his eyebrows. Deborah swallowed hard, and Biagio shook his head in disappointment. “Next time, I will not be so gracious. Don't forget about it, okay?”

Deborah nodded. Biagio widened his smile and leaned forward to kiss Deborah's forehead. There was nothing sensitive about it. The kiss was only the sealing of the promise that was made.

“Tell Ben he should be ready in an hour.” Biagio said after a moment.

“Ben?” Deborah frowned. “I thought Ben would stay in his room. That he should lay low, I-...” she said, confused. Biagio raised his finger, which effectively silenced Deborah.

“I decided that Ben will sit with us. I want Solomons to get acquainted with my family. Who knows, maybe someday Benjamin will be doing business with him?” he said jokingly, but Deborah watched him with increasing panic.

“Who knows? I know. He won’t.” she folded her hands. “Biagio, for God's sake. Alfie Solomons is dangerous, you know that well. Dinner with... with a gangster is not an event for a little boy.” she said cautiously, stepping closer. Biagio tightened his jaw.

“I made a decision, understand? Whether you like it or not, Benjamin will have dinner with us tonight. In the company of Solomons. He will not be eternally a ‘little boy’. One day he will grow up and I won't support him for the rest of my life!”

Biagio breathed heavily, clenching his hands into fists. Deborah looked away and bit her trembling lips, not to say a few words too much. If Biagio ever wanted to involve Benjamin in his clan, Deborah had to think about the right steps to save her son from such a future.

“Adjust yourself.” he added. “Otherwise you will regret that I haven't killed you yet.”

Deborah watched Biagio leave the room. He slammed the door, and Deborah shuddered under the sudden, loud sound.

She didn't mind Alfie, but she wasn't sure how he would behave in the company of any child. After the last meeting with him she felt badly. She did not want Benjamin to know this side of Alfie. And she had the feeling that a man who could become a role model for her son will never come back. She wasn't ready to introduce Alfie to Benjamin.

 

*

 

“Debbie!” Biagio's loud calling reached the upstairs without any problem. Deborah extinguished the cigarette in the crystal ashtray in her husband's office and let out a last cloud of smoke. She stood up and involuntarily smoothed down the navy blue dress she wore. She went to Benjamin's room and took him floor below. As they were going down the stairs, Benjamin took her hand and clenched tightly. Biagio had never insisted that Ben accompanied them in any business-related dinner. It was clear, then, that Benjamin was nervous.

“Hey, what happened to that bold boy from the garden, hmm?” Deborah raised an eyebrow. Benjamin looked at her. “Everything will be fine. Mr Solomons has to deal with your father, not with you.” she winked at him. She led Benjamin to the dining room, where Biagio's voice has been coming from. In the room, however, there were two of them – Biagio sat at the top of the table, Alfie took the seat next to him.

“Mr Solomons.” Deborah spoke, entering the dining room. “Good evening.”

“Yeah, it ‘s.” he replied and he noticed her after a moment. “It ‘s.”

Biagio got up and walked over to Deborah quickly. He wrapped his fingers around her forearm, pulling her closer.

“Take care of our guest.” he ordered, and without any explanation he left the dining room.

Alfie was staring only at Deborah, as if they were in the room only by themselves. His face expressed nothing but boredom. Or something very similar. Deborah watched him too. He looked a bit different than when she saw him in the bakery. His hair wasn't such a mess, and instead of a crumpled shirt, a snow-white collar jutted out from under his neat vest. Deborah also noticed the glasses stuck in the vest pocket. Practices in his father's jewelry store had to affect Alfie's eyesight.

Solomons glanced at Benjamin as he moved behind Deborah. Alfie looked at the boy, and his face took on a grimace of disgust, irritation and disorientation. Deborah has never seen so many conflicting feelings accumulate in one place like a human face. But Alfie perfectly combined it into a quite coherent whole. Because these emotions didn't pass successively, one after the other – they suddenly appeared, all at once.

“What ‘s that, eh?” he asked, looking up at Deborah.

“It’s a human.” she replied calmly. “But smaller than you. We call that a _‘child_ _’_.”

“I can see that, ya frisky fing.” Alfie rose from his seat and grabbed a cane, which was leaning against a chair. Deborah didn't remember Alfie having it with him when she last saw him. “Me back ‘s killing me, mate.” he referred, no problem seeing Deborah's interest. He stood next to her and once again looked at Benjamin. The boy hid behind Deborah. “What ‘s yer name, lad?”

“Benjamin.” he said barely audibly. Alfie nodded. He stared at the boy for a moment until he finally looked up at Deborah again.

“Benjamin.” he repeated. He pursed his lips in a way that Deborah could barely see among the beard and mustache. “ _Son of my right hand_. But he does not have swarthy skin or ‘is daddy’s brown eyes, does he?” he clacked. “My dear Deborah.” he pursed his lips again, and a grimace of anger crossed his face. “What _right hand_ we talking about, eh?”

Alfie was close enough for Deborah to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. He didn't look directly at her, rather at some nearby point, and if he decided to raise his eyes to her face, Deborah would probably faint once again.

“And ‘ow old ‘s yer _child_  as ya called ‘im?”

“He’s ten.”

“Ten?” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “He ‘s fucking ten.” he smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “So you telling me, right? You telling me this ‘s the reason” he pointed to Benjamin. “why you left.”

Deborah looked away. She took a shivering, deep breath and finally lowered her eyelids. She was convinced that Alfie's close presence was making her dizzy.

“Yeah.” he said after a moment. He nodded, pursing his lips. “Just as I thought.”

Alfie pulled back and returned to his seat, and Deborah felt she could breathe again. Alfie overwhelmed her by his power, ruthlessness and coldness. And he smelled amazing.

“We can begin.” Biagio announced. Deborah looked at him. He appeared faster than she thought.

 

*

 

Deborah adjusted the quilt, wrapping Benjamin. The boy was staring empty into space in front of him, so Deborah sat on the edge of his bed. For quite certain reasons, she looked at him with concern. She brushed Benjamin's hair from his forehead.

“What is it, Benny?” she asked, smiling warmly.

“Mr Solomons...” he hesitated. Deborah's expression changed diametrically in a fraction of a second. She was worried by the fact that Benjamin even mentioned him. They both deserved mutual contact. Alfie should get to know Benjamin, and Benjamin should get used to Alfie. The problem is that Alfie wasn't expressing any willingness for it. Although Biagio was still the biggest obstacle.

“What about him?” Deborah raised her eyebrows. She tried to encourage the boy to continue the conversation. Without specific intentions. Maybe some time ago, Deborah would be interested in what her son thinks about Alfie Solomons. Now – when she knew what kind of person he was – she did not care less about him.

“He is terrifying.” Benjamin admitted. “Really terrifying.”

Deborah smiled a little wider, then nodded.

“You’re right.” she agreed. “Mr Solomons is a bit scary. But you don't have to be afraid of him. He won't hurt you. You have my word.” she added and touched the tip of Benjamin's nose.

“I'm not afraid of him.” he protested immediately, shaking his head. Deborah's brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't say a word, noticing Benjamin's need to justify his position. “Mr Solomons is a very sad man. He did not smile even once, and daddy told him so many funny stories!” he said with absolute seriousness. “That's why he looks scary. Because he is very sad.”

Deborah was silent. Not because she wanted to. She couldn't speak a word. Emptiness filled her head. Benjamin surprised her many times, but never in this way. She even had the feeling that the boy might be right. Not that she would consider it as justification for Alfie's behavior. But thanks to that she could try to understand it.

“I wish I was as smart as you.” she sighed theatrically.

“You don’t need to.” Benjamin shook his head again. “You are very pretty, mummy. That's enough.”

Deborah bursted out laughing. Benjamin seemed to believe in his own words, but he couldn't keep a serious expression when Deborah's lips formed a wide, bright smile.

“Owh, what?”

“Owh, nothing.” she imitated the same tone, wrinkling her nose. “I'm just wondering, which Shelby I should cut off of you.”

“Oh, no!” Benjamin wailed in displeasure. “Anything, but not this!”

 

*

 

Deborah saw no sense in continuing to accompany Biagio. He was sitting with Alfie in the dining room when she left the room to put Benjamin to bed. The only thing she wondering about in all this was whether Alfie spoke a little more than at the beginning.

Leaving the bathroom upstairs – a thin nightgown, a satin robe, no make-up, and her hair falling down loosely – she heard Biagio's voice coming from his office. She was wondering, what she should do. On the one hand, she wanted to know what was so secret that it forced Biagio to change the dining room to a more secluded place. Still, she guessed what would happen to her if he caught her eavesdropping. In the end, she went silently to the ajar door.

“You have good information, Mr Solomons. I worked in New York for a while, so I can do what you asking for.”

“Ya fuckin’ what? Asking you? You?” Alfie's voice was full of disbelief and artificial admiration. “This ‘s fucking agreement, mate. I’m asking you, right? ‘Cause what we have ‘s a fucking agreement.”

Biagio was silent. Deborah smiled under her breath. She had never witnessed anything like it before. It has always been Biagio – the dominant one. This time Alfie crushed him like a worthless cockroach.

“And I want some proof, yeah? Proof of yer loyalty.” Alfie continued. “Somfing very precious for ya, my friend.”

Biagio didn't say a word for several minutes. Deborah couldn't tell what was the reason – the power Alfie emanated or the simple lack of the right words to express his dissatisfaction. Because Deborah knew well that her husband didn't like being treated that way. Nor was he stupid enough to oppose such a powerful man as Alfie Solomons.

“I have no idea what you're aiming for-...”

“Let me enlighten ya.” he interrupted. Deborah recognized the annoyance in Alfie's voice. He was impatient when he had to explain his intentions in-depth. “I need more _bakers_. Actual bakers. I have a few intrusive, stubborn coppers on me back.”

“I can give you as many men as you like.” Biagio said without hesitation. Once again, there was a silence, in which only Alfie's deep, heavy breath could be heard. He seemed to be even more annoyed than had just been.

“Tell me, Biagio” he replied only after a short time. Deborah could imagine Alfie burning the hole in her husband only with his eyes. “Can yer boys bake?”

Biagio was silent. _Again_. Standing at the door, Deborah once more stretched her lips in a malicious smile of triumph, even if it wasn't her that made Biagio feel trodden and powerless.

“But yer wife...” Alfie added after a moment. Deborah became serious in the blink of an eye. “Yeah. I need yer wife.”

“Forgive me, Mr Solomons, but...”

“Ah, forgiveness.” Alfie interrupted him, and there was a false enthusiasm in his voice. “‘ow many of us, right, ‘ow many of us are able to forgive? Forgiveness ‘s very valuable virtue, innit?”

Biagio was quiet anew, so Deborah had some time to dig into her own thoughts. What exactly did Alfie mean? He wanted her to work in his bakery? She was aware that Alfie knew about her acquired skills, but she thought it was not enough to work in a bakery. Besides, she was overcome by the feeling that it was not entirely honest and legitimate work. Because Alfie Solomons was not an ordinary baker. Alfie Solomons was above all a gangster.

Regardless of Deborah's own considerations, Biagio was still quiet. She held her breath, listening for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for super cute and kind comments. It warmed my heart! So any comments, thoughts, even suggestions are welcomed!!


	7. Just a Few Buttons

A porcelain teapot, which was part of the tableware that Deborah and Biagio received as a wedding gift from Mrs Castellano, soared over Biagio's head and crashed on the wall behind him. White pieces, decorated with blue, small flowers scattered on the floor.

“You fucking sold me!” Deborah screamed. She tried not to get angry because then she spoke and did things that in turn drove Biagio crazy. And because she was extremely brave in a sudden burst of courage, Biagio drew even greater pleasure and satisfaction from punishing her. “You should have asked what I think!” she said sharply, blushing with anger. “And you know what I think? I do not want to work with him or for him!”

“Calm down!” he replied in the same raised tone. He approached her quickly, but Deborah didn't move a step. She stood with her hands clenched into fists, ready to accept any attack from her husband. “You will go there tomorrow and behave as befits wife Biagio Castellano.”

“Oh, you mean, should I wait for Alfie to punch me with his cane?” she raised her eyebrow. She was aware of her words. Aware of Biagio's reaction. She could see the changes on his face now, he was starting to boil with rage. “Or maybe something else? Speak up, my love. But in fucking English.” she drawled.

Biagio moved away just to find himself in a better position. He hit Deborah, and the curtain of dark hair fell to one side of her face. She tightened her jaw and took a deep breath. She still felt Biagio's throbbing, burning hand on her cheek. She looked back at him. She gave him the sharp, harsh look he hated.

“Don't you dare look at me like that.” he hissed. Deborah felt something warm, a bit tickling, running down her chin, so she wiped it. She looked at her hand and saw the smudge of blood she expected. Only now did she realize that the unpleasant burning sensation had also reached her lower lip. 

She looked up at him again. Biagio roared with dissatisfaction, then placed his hand on Deborah's neck and forced her back a few steps. He pushed her against the wall, hitting the back of her head against a hard surface. Deborah lowered her eyelids when all she could see was darkness. Biagio held her in the same, unchanging way and punched her in the face again. Deborah didn't respond, didn't shout or try to break free. She knew what awaited her. 

Then he grabbed her shoulders and knocked her over. Deborah decided it was actually a good time to escape. But where would she run? And what would she do with Benjamin? She didn't have time to run upstairs for him. But before she could think about what to do, Biagio kicked her in the ribs, which made her scream in pain. Immediately afterwards he aimed at the stomach. She lost her breath for a moment. She was laying on the floor, curling up in pain and gasping for air.

Biagio only ran his fingers through his hair and wiped sweat from under his nose. “Clean yourself up. You go to work tomorrow.” he said and left the living room.

 

*

 

Deborah hid a purple bruise on her cheekbone with her creamy–texture cosmetic. And every touch of her fingertips caused dull pain. She didn't know how to mask her busted lip. The bloody wound was also surrounded by a darker color than the rest of the mouth. But Biagio wasn't at home again, so she didn't have to think about any tactic to cover that up.

She brushed her hair and tied it loosely. After a while, she got up from the chair and winced, because of the one wrong move. She felt pain in her chest and lower abdomen. She was almost certain that Biagio had managed to break her rib. The stomach was probably fine, because there was no bleeding. Just that terrible pain that didn't let her get up for half the night, and that's why she spent that time on the living room floor.

“Mum!” she heard Benjamin's voice. He burst into the bedroom, so Deborah put on a smile and looked at her son. “I'm going to school. Came to say goodbye.”

“Oh, really?” she raised her eyebrows. Benjamin rushed closer and cuddled into her body, causing a huge wave of pain, to which Deborah reacted only with a sigh and a grimace on her face. She couldn't push him off or tell him not to hug her too much. She was basically happy when Benjamin was gaving her tenderness. “My little, precious boy.” she stroked his head.

“I am not little!” he protested, moving away quickly. Deborah laughed and Benjamin ran his fingers through his hair to destroy his mother's work. “...but I like our hugs.” he admitted reluctantly.

“Of course. I do like them too.” she nodded and gave him the hand he took without hesitation. She led him down the stairs and stopped in the hall.

“Alrighty.” Benjamin gasped. Deborah leaned forward and placed a kiss on top of his head. “Yuk!” he grimaced but immediately added: “But you can keep doing this, I don’t mind at all.”

 

*

 

Jeffrey stopped the car near the bakery – a large brick building. He got out and quickly went to the back door to open it for Deborah. He noticed her problems with movements, so he decided to help.

“Thank you, Jeffrey.” she gasped, closing her eyes. She took a few not very deep breaths to ease the pain, then straightened up and cleared her throat. “You can go home, I can handle myself. But be here at five. And buy me cigarettes, because I'm planning to suffocate.”

“I'll be here at five.” Jeffrey nodded. “And, um...” he hesitated, scratching the back of his head. “...I will buy cigarettes.”

Deborah thanked him again. Then she went inside the bakery. She headed straight to Alfie's office, but before she could get there, she met Ollie. The man watched her with the same scared, uncertain expression on his face. He tried to ignore her cut lip and shaky steps.

“Mrs Castellano...” Ollie spoke.

“Deborah.” she corrected, smiling warmly.

“Ah, yes. Deborah.” he repeated a bit embarrassed. “Can I help you..?”

Deborah frowned in confusion. She looked around, then fixed her eyes on Ollie again. “Alfie didn't tell you anything?” she asked, and Ollie shook his head uncertainly. “Well, let's find out what this is about.”

“Let me...” Ollie approached Alfie's study door and knocked, then looked inside. He glanced at Deborah and nodded, calling her in.

The first thing Deborah noticed was of course Alfie. His face was full of concentration – he was frowning, his lips were parted slightly. He reminded her of the same Alfie, who was sitting in his father's studio. He was repairing jewelry then. He was calm at the time, now clearly nervous. He looked at unidentified papers, and didn't pay the slightest attention to his surroundings or to Deborah. 

She did not intend to disturb him, so she decided to fill this time watching the room. She had done it before, but the dark, unpleasant interior didn't cease to amaze her. Deborah started observing another, completely unmatched point. A large, yellowish dog with a black, salivating mouth was sleeping next to the desk. It was also snoring, not worrying about the presence of intruders. 

Alfie finally looked up. He glanced at Deborah, then at Ollie, and at Deborah again. “Sit down.” he nodded at the chair in front of the desk. Deborah followed his order. She tried not to grimace. She clenched her teeth and held her breath for a moment. Her efforts didn't escape Alfie's attention, but he decided not to bring this topic up. He took off his glasses, rested his elbows on the desk and began to turn a pencil he had used before in his fingers.

“Why am I here?” Deborah asked without hesitation. “I can’t bake, you know that.” 

“Ya can’t fuckin’ bake? Ya can’t fuckin’ bake...” he frowned and scratched his beard. He glanced at Ollie again, but this time he wasn't looking at him for too long. “You'll be doing the paperwork then. Ollie definitely needs a vacation. Don't you, Ollie?”

Deborah looked over her shoulder. Ollie turned pale. He parted his lips to say something, probably to deny it, but not a single word came from his throat. Deborah rolled her eyes and looked at Alfie again. She didn't feel like guessing why he had brought her here without a specific plan. That's why she decided to accept the offer. 

“I don't know nothing about ‘paperwork’. Ollie should stay and show me everything. Teach me stuff. This is how I see it.” she suggested, shrugging. “I need an extra chair, that's all.”

Alfie grunted, looking at her in a kind of displeasure. He wanted to say something, maybe discuss the possible conditions of this cooperation. But before he would do that, they all looked in the same direction at the moment when the explosion sounded from the main hall. Even this huge dog raised his head from the floor.

“Fucking ‘ell.” Alfie got up. “A bunch of fucking morons. Imbeciles!” he screamed, disappearing behind the door. Ollie followed him quickly, and Deborah had the chance to watch them through the glass part of the wall.

She turned her head, feeling suddenly something wet around her knee. The dog rose from his previous lair, and now poked Deborah's leg with his wet nose to get acquainted with the new smell. “Hello, buddy.” Deborah smiled and scratched the dog's ear. For a moment she though this creature returned her smile. He rested his muzzle on Deborah's thigh, leaving saliva on her skirt.

 

*

 

Looking at Ollie's desk, Deborah became more and more convinced that this space needed a slight cleanup. The papers were laying all over the surface without any order. Deborah leaned over the desk. She collected sheets of paper with similar dates and arranged them on one pile, corresponding to specific months. In all this mess she found two cups that required washing, a few missing pencils and a newspaper from six months ago. She never suspected such a thing from Ollie. Maybe that's why he constantly looked terrified – he was afraid Alfie would visit his office and throw him out of the workplace because of all this mess.

She reached for the cups and turned away, intending to leave the room. She jumped slightly and dropped one of the cups, noticing Alfie in the entrance to the office. Glass shattered on the floor, reminding Deborah of the events of last night. Alfie was standing motionless, watching her with his arms folded. He frowned, and this time Deborah had no idea what might be going on in his mind.

“You scared me.” she sighed softly.

“This ‘s what I do.” Alfie replied. He slowly approached Deborah, never taking his eyes off her face. “Scare people. They're easier to control, right? Easier to deal with when they are afraid.”

Deborah swallowed hard and looked elsewhere. Still, she could feel his eyes on her. The crushing look suited the man he had become.

Alfie grabbed Deborah's chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. She believed that Alfie wouldn't hurt her, so she didn't have to do that he said. But she wanted to. “What the fuck ‘s this, eh?” he asked quietly, but his tone wasn't calm. Instead, it expressed growing nervousness. He ran his thumb over Deborah's lower lip. She winced, instinctively turning her head away. Alfie took a step back. “Unbutton yer shirt.”

Deborah looked at him. She frowned, opening her eyes wider. “What..?” she blinked quickly.

“Unbutton this fuckin’ shirt, sweetheart. Or I swear, I will lose my patience with ya.” he growled and straightened up, making himself look even bigger and more menacing than before. But Deborah didn't follow his order that echoed against the walls of her mind. She looked down at Alfie's hands. He bend and loosened his fingers, then – with an extremely fast motion Deborah didn't anticipate – he hooked them on her shirt and pulled in two opposite directions. Buttons scattered on the floor, and the shirt hung loosely, exposing Deborah's body.

Alfie wasn't paying attention to her face any longer. He was watching what he got to. _But why did he do it? How did he know?_ With his fingertips, he ran the skin over her ribs. His hands were warm, but Deborah shuddered as he touched her that way. He was careful and gentle, as if he was afraid that Deborah would crumble under greater pressure. He pursed his lips so that they disappeared between his mustache and beard. The mild face took on an unimaginably sharp features.

“Fucking animal.” Alfie almost spat.

“Fucking animal?” Deborah stepped back. “You behaved like a fucking animal a second ago! You undress me just like that! What is wrong with you?” she asked offended. She hoped that at least Alfie would respect her.

“It ‘s just a few buttons, for fuck’s sake.” he said. He was breathing heavily. “A few buttons are nothing compared to what ‘his prick leaves on your body!” Alfie clenched his fist, raised it and pointed a finger at Deborah. And again he was staring into her eyes so intensely that she wanted to look away. “In my ‘hole life I haven't seen such a large bruise. A huge fucking monster that is.” 

“Get out.” she replied. “Get the fuck out.”

“As ya wish, Mrs Castellano.” he pulled away and headed toward the exit. Deborah leaned against the desk, taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes, trying to get rid of dizziness.

 

*

 

Deborah came back before it got dark. She dedicated the evening to Benjamin. At first she helped him with his homework, though he didn't need it. Deborah was watching him with a glass of wine in her hand, smiling to herself. Benjamin remained the same bright spot in her life. Day by day he became more and more glowing, like the sun. He was more and more like his father, which in turn made Deborah feel a little uncomfortable. On the other hand, she was glad that Benjamin had inherited Alfie's beauty. 

Then they ate dinner. Not in the large, empty dining room, which Deborah hated just like the rest of the house. She took Benjamin to the kitchen, where they ate a meal in the company of the staff.

“Edith” he said vividly, looking expectantly at the woman. “Did you know that the Earth is round?” he opened his eyes wider. It seemed that the awareness of this phenomenon was far beyond him and he needed someone with whom he could share this knowledge. He was both shocked and excited at the same time.

“I did not, master Benjamin.” Edith replied calmly. At first she feigned surprise, now she only smiled at the boy, and he was ready to confess more of what he learned.

“Alright, smartie.” Deborah pinched his cheek. She believed that if she let him continue, he wouldn't stop talking soon. “Time to bed. You’ll bring us more curiosities tomorrow.”

“I will prepare a bath.” Edith got up from her seat.

“I will do this myself!” Benjamin called out eagerly. He jumped off the chair and rushed to leave the kitchen. 

“Just don't flood the bathroom!” Deborah called after him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure!”

Deborah smiled to herself, shook her head and rose from the table as well. She gathered her and Benjamin's plate, because only those two remained on the table.

“I'll take care of this at least.” Edith looked at Deborah with concern. “You are barely standing on your feet. You should see a doctor. Or it's best to leave this man and leave.” she shook her head, starting to wash up the dishes. Deborah felt that Edith seemed to behave a bit differently than usual. She has always been helpful, it's basically part of her job, but the strange looks and uncertainty in her movements seemed suspicious. Still, Deborah decided not to ask.

“Thank you, Edith.” she nodded. “I would try to run away if he didn't try to find me. But he would do it everywhere, that's why I'm just trying to survive.”

“You can't just ‘survive’ life, love. You should experience it happily. Or at least in you own way.”

“I'm doing it my way, I guess. Unfortunately.” Deborah sighed heavily. She filled the glass of wine again and left the kitchen. She moved to the living room, where there was blissful silence and pleasant dimness through the candles lit by one of the maids. Deborah sat on the couch and looked at the ceiling. She knew Edith was right. She also knew that she could fight Biagio, but she could not win. And the attempts became more and more exhausting. She suffered increasing losses.

Deborah sat up straight and set her glass on the low table in front of the sofa, when she heard the door slam. She turned and saw Biagio standing in the entrance arch. He kept his hands in his pockets, leaned against the door frame, smiled at her. Deborah knew that smile, so an unpleasant shiver of disgust ran through her body.

“Hello, _bellissima._ ” Biagio sat down next to her. “You were behaving good? Or should I ask Mr Solomons?”

“You will hear the same from both of us.” she said. Biagio placed his hand on the back of her head, and forced her to come closer. He kissed Deborah, but when he touched her breast, she pulled away. “Biagio, please. I’m a bit sore. And tired.”

“You’re my wife. And it is the wife's duty to please her husband.”

But Deborah didn't feel like pleasing her husband. She wanted to vomit. And when Biagio marked the wet path with kisses, she was thinking about Alfie.

 

*

_Eleven years earlier._

 

 

Alfie was running his fingers through Deborah's hair when she was resting her head on his chest. They were laying on her small bed. Alfie was staring at the ceiling, Deborah at a nearby wall. She invited him only because her father wasn't at home. Robert said he would not be back until the next day. And that in case of any worries or problems she should call Aunt Polly. But Deborah didn't see any problems in staying alone for several dozen hours. Anyway, she wasn't alone.

“Don't ya think I should meet your father?” Alfie spoke, breaking the almost perfect silence. Almost perfect, because of the rain outside. Deborah rose to a sitting position. She frowned and looked at Alfie. He smiled and raised his hand to fix her hair. “You look like a homeless man.”

“My father?” she repeated. “What for?”

Alfie also sat. And he did it just to get closer to Deborah. He moved a hand to her cheek and caressed it tenderly, looking into her eyes. “Cause I love you. Cause it's your family and I want to be accepted by him, yeah?” he confessed, shrugging. He smiled again, as if something brilliant was on his mind. “Because I want you to be me wife one day. It 's pretty obvious, isn't it?”

Deborah smiled softly. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and shook her head slowly. Afterwards, she climbed on his thighs, clung to his lips and pressed herself against him. They were both back on the mattress.

“What are you doing?” he asked as Deborah began to make soft kisses on his neck.

“You want marry me, so I need to get to know you better. _It_ _'s pretty obvious, isn't it?_ ” she rolled her eyes. Alfie laughed but said nothing. Regardless of how much he wanted to. Deborah closed his mouth with a kiss. “Your first time..?” she asked a bit bitingly.

“Nah.” Alfie said. “But it can be your last.” he raised his eyebrows. Deborah laughed and kissed him again.

Alfie wandered his hand under her shirt and ran it along her back. He wanted to have her as close as possible, he wanted to feel her soft, delicate skin. Deborah pulled away enough to have a clear view of his face. She put her hand in his pants, wrapped her fingers around his cock shortly thereafter. Alfie parted his lips and let out a low moan. He pursed his lips as Deborah began to move her hand – she moved it up and down. Slow and careful first. Then faster and faster.

Alfie's fingers tightened on the sheets. He knew he couldn't last long. Not when she looked at him that way – except that she carefully studied his body's reactions, she desired him. And the lust on her face could make him explode at any moment. He grabbed her wrist firmly. Deborah looked at him and blinked slowly.

“Alfie, please.” she whispered. She wanted him. She wanted him almost painfully.

She lied down while Alfie hung over her. She parted her legs, got rid of the bottom of her underwear, and Alfie looked at Deborah like he had never seen her before. She was sure of what she wanted. He saw it on her face, in her movements and behavior. And the way she begged him for touch.

He leaned down and kissed her lips. He could swear they were as sweet as a candy. Deborah clenched her fingers on his shoulder. She dug her nails into his skin and winced as she felt him filling her. He didn't say anything, though he always had a lot to say. Instead, he was panting heavily with each push. Deborah needed time to absorb a completely new feeling. It wasn't the same as John Shelby had done to her, though it seemed confusingly similar.

“I want worship the ground you walk on, my dearest.” Alfie gasped straight into Deborah's ear. These words melted in her mind and filled every nook and cranny of it.

Deborah wanted to tell him how much she loved him. But she couldn't say a word. Nothing but the moans that filled the bedroom. But he knew. Alfie knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back! Tell me what you think, share your thoughts!! 
> 
> (Thank you all for kind words, it helped me a lot :^) And as you can see, I deleted last two chapters with announcements, but I kept all comments!)


	8. The First Ray of Spring Sun

Alfie Solomons’ bakery wasn't the peak of dreams or achievement worth mentioning. It wasn't an exclusive place, it didn't provide high earnings, and the atmosphere there was rather heavy, mainly due to – often unreasonable – nervousness of the employer. 

The building itself didn't offer anything extraordinary. It wasn't an architectural masterpiece, and the interiors resembled abandoned, old houses. The underground was loud and smelled of alcohol. The ground floor was empty for most of the time – there were Alfie and Ollie's offices, a dining room and an unused kitchen. The second floor was an object of jokes – the men working in the bakery claimed it to be scaring upstairs. They often said that this scary ghost belongs to their boss' dead sense of humor.

During each meal break, Deborah sat with Ollie in a large, spacious room with several long tables, benches and other resting places. Men worked in the bakery mainly, and although they didn't look particularly friendly – their faces were mostly covered with scars, fresh or healing wounds – Deborah felt no fear. Given her experience with Biagio, she received a huge number of males completely calmly.

The men didn't hide their interest in the new crew member. Especially since it was a woman. Some focused on the meal, others on the card game, the rest was looking at sitting at the Ollie's side Deborah. Deborah herself never had anything with her to eat. Instead, she decided to fill the time with knitting. She brought a colored yarns and a pair of knitting needles with her. She chose wool in a cherry shade of red and focused on her task, nodding from time to time to Ollie's words.

“Hello, pretty one” she heard a male, stranger voice. Only after a while she looked questioningly at the interlocutor. The man she only knew by sight was sitting with his elbows on the table, watching her. “Whatcha doin’ there?” 

“Knitting.” she said blankly. She forced a smile and lifted the scrap of material that was being created so that the man received the appropriate proof of her words.

“But why?” the another one asked. All conversations ceased. The present men paid attention to this exchange. Deborah felt the eyes of the most, if not all, of the gathered.

“It's relaxing.” she explained briefly. She couldn't explain why, but instead of looking down and back to her previous job, she was moving her eyes from one face to another. 

“Relaxing.” the first of them repeated and scratched his chin. “So you should definitely teach us.” he laughed. A wave of laughter passed through the room. Even Deborah managed a light, honest smile this time. 

“If you want.” she shrugged.

The expression on the man's face, who had the conversation with her, changed in the moment. As if he didn't expect Deborah to really want to devote her time to them. 

“It is not manly.” one of the others gathered waved a hand, completely rejecting Deborah's offer.

“You're right, Frank.” another on spoke up. “And you know what is more manly? Your wife!”

Another wave of laughter echoed in the dining room. Deborah smiled broadly, but instead of saying something more, she decided to just go back to do her thing. She frowned, feeling someone's presence beside her. She glanced at the man who decided to join her.

“I’m Bill.” he introduced himself, and wasn't counting on Deborah shaking his hand, since her fingers were now wrapped in wool. “Show me how you do it.” 

Deborah raised her eyebrows at Bill. She tried to sense if he was serious. He seemed to being eager to learn, and he was giving her an expectant but friendly look. Immediately after, two more men sat at Ollie and Deborah's table. 

“Roy” one of them nodded. “And this is Freddie. Mute Freddie. So? Will you teach us that stuff?”

Deborah hadn't felt better in a long time. She had the opportunity to leave the house, spent less time with Biagio, and felt part of a more complex community. She felt needed and wanted. Over time, men working in the bakery turned to her during a meal, talked about problems with her wives, and Deborah tried to suggest ways to resolve conflicts. Not everyone, but a lot of them. Others continued to give her anxious glances. They were here only to work, not to gossip. 

Deborah's still uncertain position in the bakery wasn't a topic that she could raise in conversation with her husband's wealthy friends. But she smiled to herself whenever she came to the bakery. She greeted Ollie with extraordinary enthusiasm, which he soon got used to, though at first he couldn't understand how anyone could be happy coming here. 

Perhaps this is why the workers have become somewhat more relaxed over time. In addition to the practice of knitting, they had the opportunity to watch a woman smiling from ear to ear. She was moving lightly between the tables, trying to make a short conversation. Deborah was like the first ray of spring sun after a long, hard winter. She was a blast of fresh air. 

“Good morning, Ollie!” Deborah greeted him with a broad smile, hanging up her coat. “Today will be a good day. Everything points to it. By _everything,_ I mean the weather. No single cloud…” she sighed blissfully. 

“Good morning.” Ollie replied, taking a break from writing. “I don’t think so. Mr Solomons is in a bad mood today.” 

Deborah didn't find this information useful. First of all, Alfie was mostly in a "bad mood". Secondly, all this time since she worked here, Deborah has rarely made contact with him. “You think?” she raised an eyebrow, resting her hands on the edge of Ollie's desk.

“I’m sure.” he nodded. “This time, it's probably something with his health. That's why it's so… annoyed.”

“With his health?” Deborah repeated. She knew that he sometimes used a cane, but there was no indication in what condition Alfie could be. As a young man, he was full of strength, he never complained about pain or malaise. “Alright,” she gasped heavily and looked at the watch on the wall. “I should start work in ten minutes.”

“Sure. _Work._ ” Ollie laughed and returned to the documents.

Deborah left the room and stopped behind the door. She should help Ollie with the papers or at least pretend to do just that. After all, some irresistible need told her to go to Alfie's office. She was aware that he probably didn't want to see her. 

She knocked on the door and looked inside. Alfie was flipping the pages. Ollie was right, there was nervousness on his face, which meant an explosion that appearance was only a matter of time. Moreover, Alfie's skin seemed to be in worse condition than usual. His face was covered with red spots and traces of intense scratching here and there. 

“Good morning.” she smiled, closing the door behind her. 

“What?” he asked, staring at the documents with a frown on his forehead. “Do ya need somefin’?” 

Deborah came a little closer. She shrugged, then stopped in front of the chair and placed her hands on the backrest. “No.” she answered uncertainly, squinting. She pursed her lips, wondering if she should continue this short, pointless conversation. _“_ _Do you_ need something..?” 

Alfie stopped everything he was doing. He frowned and slowly looked up at Deborah. He rested his elbows on the desktop and put his fingers together. 

“I can make you some tea or…” 

“No. You can not. And you know why?” he asked calmly, yet Deborah knew that this calmness wouldn't last long. “I don't pay you for makin' _some_ fuckin' _tea_ and standin' in me office. And that 's what ya doin', yeah?”  

“What?” Deborah narrowed her eyes. “You don't pay me at all.”  

Alfie detached his elbow of the wooden surface and reached out, pointing with his finger at the door. He didn't have to say anything more. Deborah obediently headed to leave.

 

*

 

At meal time, Deborah and Ollie sat at one table with Billy, Roy, Freddie, and a group of other men who had found peace in the activity Deborah had given them. They brought materials and their own tools. Deborah tried to show everything slowly, step by step, control the work of her companions. 

“My wife praises the socks I made for her.” Roy said. “They're unable to embrace her ankles, but she is still delighted.”

Deborah laughed, Roy was also smiling. Until the figure in the entrance cast a shadow – it would seem – on the whole room. Alfie stood with his arms folded, slightly hunched over. He was frowning so hard that his eyes disappeared under his eyebrows. His lips tapered into a thin line could hardly be seen. He had never been more terrifying before. 

“What the fuck ya think ya doing, eh?” he asked without interest in the actual answer. He wouldn't receive it anyway. Everyone was silent, some of the men didn't even look at Alfie, too scared to look up. He scanned several faces, eventually stopping at Deborah. “What the ‘ell is this?”

Deborah involuntarily looked at her work. “Um, a scarf..? Well, it _will be_ a scarf.” 

“A fucking scarf!” 

“Correct. A scarf.” she replied calmly. 

Alfie glanced again at the closest points, mainly terrified faces. He seemed to be looking for something. Probably a smile that he could rip off. And he would do it with great pleasure. “Get back to yer fucking work!” he shouted so suddenly and loudly that Deborah dropped the knitting needles from her hand. “And you” he pointed at her. “My office. Now.”

 

*

 

She knocked and looked inside the room. Alfie was sitting at his desk, as usual busy with paperwork. Deborah had never thought about it before, yet she came to a conclusion – she didn't think that the bakery was associated with a lot of documents, despite this Alfie was eternally filling them.

“Hello, Cyril” she whispered as the dog walked slowly up to her and lifted the muzzle to her hand so that Deborah would agree to stroke him. “Good boy.” she added, not paying too much attention to Alfie.

“Sit.” Alfie gasped. He put the documents down and rested his elbows on the desk. Deborah obediently followed his order and took the seat opposite. “Explain if you will, the knitting situation.” he put a insincere smile, but the expression on his face changed radically after a moment. 

“Do you want me to teach you how to knit?” she raised her eyebrows. She knew what Alfie was asking about, but she wasn't going to give him what he wanted. Probably because he didn't seem as terrifying as before.

Alfie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He clenched his hands on the edge of the desktop. He seemed tired and undoubtedly annoyed that Deborah was obviously going to tease him. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Alfie said wearily. He pursed his lips. “A dozen men are walking 'round my bakery, right? A dozen men are walking 'round my bakery with fucking spikes. I can swear to ya that none of them is completely normal.”

“It is just a form of getting away from work–”

“Why the hell should they _get away from work_?” he interjected, leaning toward her.

Deborah rolled her eyes when Alfie interrupted her. She didn't even try to talk some sense into him. She knew he was probably right. And Alfie knew it too. “I don't think they are insane.” she said anyway. 

“You have been working 'ere for a month. I run this bakery for years. And you sittin' here and telling me ya know more about them?” he frowned. 

“No. I didn't say I know more about them.” she protested. “What's more, I don't know them at all. I don't spend much time with them,” she lied. She was afraid that otherwise Alfie would fire anyone who dared to talk to her. “I just do what they ask me to do. If that's all…” she slowly got up from the chair.

“Yeah. That’s all.” Alfie stroked his beard. “Fuck off now.”

Deborah couldn't help but make her lips bent in a tiny smile. She clenched them immediately not to reveal the amused expression on her face. But Alfie noticed. “I’m sorry. You say _‘fuck off’_ in… some way.” Deborah she squinted. “A funny way.” 

“FUCK OFF. NOW.” he repeated louder. Much louder. Deborah burst out laughing, tilting her back so hard that Alfie thought he was about to break in half. She grabbed the door handle – still laughing – and left his office. When she closed the door behind her, Alfie smiled barely, and shook his head.

 

*

 

“Look what I have!” Deborah said with obvious excitement, appearing in Ollie's office again. 

He looked at her with terror on his face. “You were only supposed to leave for ten minutes! You've been gone for an hour! Do you know what Alfie would do if he found out?”

Deborah stood still, staring at panicking Ollie. Indeed, she hadn't thought about her disappearance, nor did she think that Ollie might actually 'get hit' when it was him who Deborah asked for cover. “You spend far too much time on what–ifs. Alfie didn't see a thing, you're still alive, _and_ you still have this job. Inhale and exhale, Ollie.”

Ollie sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the basket she'd brought with her. She also looked at the item she was holding and came closer. She set the basket on Ollie's desk.

“A few herbs.” she explained and pushed the cloth aside to show Ollie dried goods from her own garden. She didn't think they would ever be useful. She wasn't sure what effects they have, but Polly mentioned something about healing and sedative properties.  “And juice, some jams…” she added immediately. “I thought I could spoil the boys a little. All the boys.” she raised her eyebrows significantly.

“An impressive collection… of everything.” Ollie said with admiration.

Deborah smiled. “Would you like a cup of tea?”  

“Thank you, but…” he sighed. “But if Mr Solomons bust me with a tea–” 

“Ollie!” she scolded him. “I told you, less what–ifs!”

 

*

 

Deborah decided to take the risk once again. And although Alfie rejected her earlier offer of tea, now she choose to press it on him. She prepared a drink of dried herbs in an idle kitchen, then looked into Alfie's office with a cup in her hand. Exceptionally, he didn't look at the papers, but directly towards the front door, as if he expected her to appear.

“We've already talked about tea, haven't we?” 

“It is not exactly a tea.” Deborah forced a friendly, encouraging smile.

“Course it ‘s not.” Alfie said. “It's fucking gypsy piss.”  

 _“Alfie_ ” she said pleadingly, smiling sweetly. Just like she did in the past. They both went back to their youth for a moment. Alfie was taken aback, Deborah felt somewhat disappointed in her own act. She didn't plan it, his name just escaped from her mouth. She wanted to address him that way again. And she didn't quite understand the need. “You will feel better after this. It won't help your back, but maybe you'll be able to relax.” she sat down in front of the desk and sighed heavily, running her hands over her thighs. Alfie watched her restlessly. After all, he reached for a cup that seemed microscopic in his hands. “Listen, Alfie. Can I call you that..?” 

“That ‘s me name.”  

“It's not the point. What I mean is, I'm not looking for enemies. I know how does it look between us, but I haven't forgotten about you all these years. You were a really important part of my life. And I want it to be like that again. Not exactly like that, but… I want to have an ally in you.” she confessed and dared to look at him. “Is it possible?” 

Alfie was breathing heavy, but he remained quiet in all of this. He narrowed his eyes and looked away at one of the walls. Not that he couldn't look into Deborah's eyes. He had no problem with it. “I craved to hate you, Debby. I was convinced that negative feelings would allow me to get rid of all others. And I thought I achieved it in a way, yeah? I thought I succeeded. And ya are risen again.” he smiled briefly, but there was nothing pleasant in his smile. “I cannot hate you. I did everything to hate memories of you. I modified 'em in me own head. But the moment I saw you again… You were the same precious, little 'fing. And not a distorted memory I tried to create.” 

Deborah was silent, staring at Alfie with her lips slightly open. Her mind was empty. “B–but why… why did you want me to work here? Since being around me must be uncomfortable for you.” she asked confused.  

“I wanted to make sure ya were safe.” he paused. The room was quiet again. Deborah held her breath, realizing that she was not indifferent to Alfie, otherwise he would have left her to Biagio. “I can keep an eye on ya ‘ere.” 

“Thank you.” Deborah smiled sadly. “Well, we should take care of each other.” she said, rising from her seat. She walked slowly behind Alfie's armchair. Although it was definitely tightly between his seat and the shelves at the back, Deborah was thin enough to fit in easily. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. He wasn't moving as if paralyzed by Deborah's closeness. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to carefully massage them. 

“Taking care of you.” 

“Takin’ care of me, eh? That ‘s ridiculous, mate.” Alfie shook his head. He sat quietly for a moment, pursing his lips and focusing on her touch, nothing else. “Little higher.” he asked, causing Deborah to smirk.

 

*

 

Deborah pulled up her sleeves, tied her hair and knotted the apron she had received from Ollie at her own request. She looked at the products prepared on the counter, then looked around for the sacks of flour she had asked for. She measured off an accidental amount of white powder, made something that was looking like a mound from it, added a few eggs and some water. She took a deep breath, as if creating something sensible from this mess would be extremely difficult to achieve. 

Finally, she sank her hands into the mixture. She tried to combine everything, while kneading something that apparently didn't want to be kneaded. The pulp was uncomfortably cold to the touch, was sticking to Deborah's fingers and effusing through them. “Jesus fucking Christ, disgusting.” she whispered under her breath, wincing. She have seen worse phenomena, especially in the past, but she couldn't react differently. Her work was like playing in the mud – a viscous, shapeless goo. Probably as edible as mud too. 

“What are ya doing 'ere?”

Deborah looked hurriedly over her shoulder. She wasn't surprised by Alfie's position – he stood with arms folded and was looking at her. It was his presence that surprised her more. It seemed to her that he never came here, rather sat in his office, from time to time he controlled the work in the underground.  

“I'm baking.” she said. Without wasting time, she returned to previous, unskillfully actions. “Well, I’m doing my best actually.” she raised her eyebrows. Shortly afterwards she heard footsteps approaching. Alfie stood next to her and looked attentively at what Deborah held her hands in. An amused smile appeared on his face, which Deborah hadn't seen in a really long time.

“Is this what you call _baking_? This crap?” he pointed at the mush spilling on the counter. “You are right, that's disgusting. That's fuckin' awful.” he repeated. Deborah narrowed her eyes, wondering how long he had been standing there and watching her. Before she knew, Alfie added another portion of flour. “‘ere you go.” 

Deborah started kneading again, but the ingredients still didn't seem to hold together. Alfie gasped, which undoubtedly meant irritation, stood behind Deborah and placed his hands on her own. He directed them so that they gathered all the dough in one point, then he started kneading too. Deborah smiled – Alfie was extremely close. She could feel his warmth, his beard was scratching her cheek, yet Deborah didn't feel embarrassed or intimidated. 

She could feel his warm breath on her neck and his smell that surrounded her everywhere. She took her hands away, wiped them on her apron, and step aside from the counter. She bumped into Alfie. He didn't move, as if he froze for a moment and had no idea what motion should he make. Deborah turned back carefully. She scanned Alfie's face – he looked at her, frowning. Soon after, his expression softened, but they both looked at each other without understanding.

Alfie placed his hand on her hip. He didn't know why and for what purpose he did it. He just wanted to touch her, remind her of his presence, make the situation real. Deborah looked down and ran her tongue over her chapped lips. She looked at Alfie again and put her hand on his shoulder. She needed a moment to get used to his heat again. She needed a moment to realize that Alfie was real. 

Alfie leaned forward and rested his forehead on Deborah's forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Deborah moved a hand to his cheek and gently brushed the surface under her fingers. Without thinking long, she kissed him. She kissed him insecure and subtle. Alfie took it quite naturally, but with an unknown to himself longing. He didn't think he would ever miss it. And only now did he realize how much he needed her lips. How much he needed her.

They both knew that what they were doing was slowly getting out of control. Alfie forgot that Deborah was married. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, but he stopped being mad at her for a moment. Deborah wasn't thinking about Biagio now. She didn't wonder what would happen if he somehow found out about it. There was nothing else, just them.

Alfie pressed Deborah to the edge of the countertop. He ran his hands over her body, eventually stopped one of them on Deborah's ribs, but quickly took it away, remembering a cruel bruise. Deborah rested one hand on the countertop, the other clamped on his shirt. She put her tongue between Alfie's lips. He accepted it as if waiting for it, and immediately dominated it.

Deborah climbed onto the worktop. Away from the mass that was still nearby. They did not have to talk about it, make sure that what they do is good or both of them want it. Alfie wanted to have her close since he saw her for the first time after all these years.

Deborah pulled up her skirt. In the meantime, Alfie lowered his pants. He embraced his cock, and though he didn't seem to need much preparation, he moved his hand several times before approaching Deborah. He brushed the material of her panties aside, rubbed the head of his dick over the soft, wet entrance, until he finally pushed his hips, thrusted into her. He began to make slow, single movements. Deborah suppressed moans by clenching her lips, tilted her head back, and Alfie ran his fingers over her arched neck, then placed several tickling kisses on it. She missed him and everything he carried with him. She missed how she felt with him.

Alfie was pushing harder and more neatly. Apart from Alfie's heavy, shallow gasping, aside from the moaning made by Deborah, the room was filled with characteristic noises as their bodies smashed against each other. Alfie filled Deborah with all of him again and again, looking her in the eye. Soon he saw tears gathering in them. Alfie stopped immediately. He wiped the wet trail from her cheek with his thumb, looking at her face in confusion and worry.

“What is it, love?”  Alfie asked quietly. They were both breathing heavily and slowly, and Deborah was trying to gasp through the tears. “Talk to me, so I can hear you.” he placed his hand on her cheek. “Is something hurtin' ya? Are you in pain, Debby?”

Deborah smiled with difficulty and tilted her head, cuddling into his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m not. But my heart is. And my soul.” she said. “Don't stop, Alfie. Make love to me, please. It ease the pain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer than usual, costed me a couple breakdowns, so enjoy and tell me what you think!!
> 
> (the first and probably the last smut, because it's horrible, no idea why I wrote something like this)


	9. Cotton Candy Clouds

The door closed behind Deborah with a numb click. There was silence inside the house. Except for the old, ticking clock and the crackling fire. She tried to move noiselessly, although she doubted that her absence had escaped anyone's attention. It did not escape her husband's attention, and Biagio couldn't remain indifferent in the face of his wife's disobedience. Deborah predicted how this evening would end for her.

The corridor would be completely dark, were it not for the warm yellow light spilling out of the living room. Undoubtedly, it was coming from the fireplace, as indicated by the aforementioned crackles. The light seemed to move in a random, insignificant rhythm, it seemed to dance on the floor. The clock's ticking was music of some kind.

Deborah stopped at the entrance of the living room, and the sight of Biagio gave her goosebumps. Her husband was sitting in a chair facing the fire. He was holding an empty glass. “You came back later” Biagio stood up. He put down the glass, stretched, and set his hands into the pockets. Deborah was watching his moves carefully. They didn't look suspicious, but even with such innocent motions she felt anxious. “Much later than usual.” he added after a long silence. He turned and stared at her with this dreadful smile. “What stopped you?”

“I thought I'd learn how to bake.” Deborah said. “You wanted a perfect wife, didn't you? And now, you could brag about my skills among your friends.” she forced a smile. Biagio loved to show Deborah to others because of her beauty. Sharply drawn cheekbones and eyes which radiate cool green that charmed Biagio years ago. He loved the lust on the faces of men and their wives’ jealousy. Deborah was a personal form of art for him – you could look at her, but never touch.

Biagio came closer. “Brag about your skills among my friends? Solomons told me he need you, **because of** your skills. He said you **can** bake. Maybe I should brag about this thing?” he placed his fingers on both sides of her face, squeezing her cheeks. Deborah frowned, and Biagio raised his eyebrows. “You have no idea what I’m talking about?” he made sure, and when Deborah shook her head gently, he grabbed her hair and led her out of the living room, dragging her down the hall. He directed her to the mirror on one of the walls. And when he turned on the light, Deborah saw what Biagio had in mind. Her lips were surrounded by pink, fresh scratches. Scratches that Alfie's beard left when he was kissing her without thinking, when he was kissing her in a mad man rush.

She held her breath and ran her fingertips over the redness that had formed. A hundred thoughts flashed through her head, and she tried to choose the most appropriate one that Biagio would be willing to believe. “I don't know where it came from. It's a rash. There is... everything in the bakery.” she began, nervously shifting her eyes from her own reflection to her husband, and back again. “I swear, darling. It is some kind of skin disease.” she continued, trying to convince him in a tone that turned out to be the weak voice of a desperate woman.

“A rash.” Biagio snorted. He laughed and shook his head. His face quickly took on a serious, hard expression. “Stop lying to me! I'm not a damn kid. We both know where it came from.” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. Biagio was right – he was a grown man, and he wasn’t naive. On the contrary, he had been calculating everything so intensely that he often told himself more than the actual truth. “When I find out which of those fucking bakers has dared to touch you, I will kill him. But I'll deal with you first.”

Deborah involuntarily clenched her fists, far from a defensive gesture. She tried to catch her breath, feeling her knees bend under her. Biagio didn't seem to suspect Alfie. Instead, he was going to look for a potential culprit. Deborah felt relief, even if Biagio's punishment was closer than ever. And he appeared after a short absence with some sharp tool in his hands. When he came closer and the weak light of the bulb fell on the object, it turned out that Biagio was holding the scissors.

“No.” she whispered faintly. “Put it down, dear. We can talk.” Deborah begged, taking a step back. She bumped into a patterned wallpaper of the wall behind her and raised a terrified, full of sadness look at her torturer.

“No one will ever look at you again.” Biagio was staring at her with pure madness in those brown, gorgeous eyes belong to the devil himself. “You are mine, understand? And only I can touch you. Now only I will know what you really looked like. You were flawless to me, and you won't be to anybody else. And my heart is bleeding because I have to do this.” 

Deborah just shook her head, since she couldn't utter a word. She sensed that she would lose consciousness any moment. Not from the pain she usually experienced. But Biagio has never been more terrifying, he have never made such promises. The spark always glided slowly on the fuse of the bomb he was. Now it was approaching to its end, starting an explosion of rage. As if Deborah finally crossed some invisible line they have never talked about.

Biagio reached forward and grabbed a handful of Deborah's hair. He got rid of the excess with scissors. And when he dealt with several thick, dark bands, he proceeded to do the rest. Deborah was shocked and confused because Biagio had never hurt her this way before. The scream of despair stuck in her throat. She was sobbing instead, she was begging him to stop, but Biagio didn't hear her pleas. The need for revenge, the need to show Deborah his power and anger above his love for her flooded his ears and mind. Biagio was cutting piece by piece, and the brown strands, which until now reached almost to Deborah's waist, fell limply to the floor.

“You are worthless, you hear me?” Biagio finally said. He put his fingers around her neck, tilting her head slightly. Just for her to look at him, though she wasn't going to do it at all. Tears, which she couldn't contain, were blurring her vision. “Worthless.” he repeated with emphasis. Without hesitation, he raised the scissors up to her face. “No one will ever look at you again.” he said again. He moved a blade across her cheek, cutting the skin. Deborah screamed, driven by pain and fear. 

Biagio pulled away, breathing heavily. He was watching his work with delight, as if he had finally achieved something he had been seeking for years. Deborah slumped to the floor, choking with her own tears. Biagio spat at her and walked away. She looked across the floor. The dark, scattered scraps of hair looked like they were pieces of her torn soul.

 

*

 

Edith called a doctor, but before he arrived, Deborah asked her for help to fix what Biagio had done. He didn't care about the diligence of his actions, he only wanted to punish her. That's why Edith straightened the jagged ends of Deborah’s hair and also cleaned it from the hallway.

“There will be a scar, I'm afraid.” doctor Addams spoke. Edith moaned deafly, but Deborah wasn’t paying much attention to the reality around her. She had enough pain – the pain that Biagio caused her, the pain she felt when the doctor stitched her skin, the pain that filled her to the brim because she was humiliated and exposed. “But it won't look bad if you take good care of it. I may...” he looked at Deborah, who seemed to be in out of touch. That's why he glanced at Edith. “I will explain how to clean up the wound. And I will see Deborah in two weeks. To remove the stitches.”

Edith walked doctor Addams to the door, leaving Deborah in the kitchen.  Not completely alone; there was Darlene, too. This young girl, part of the crew, who had been sleeping with Biagio. Deborah knew, however, that Darlene had little choice when it came to satisfying her husband.

She looked up at Darlene standing against the wall. She was clenching a scrap of white apron in her hands, avoiding the eyes of her employer. “Pack Benjamin's stuff.” Deborah said. Unpleasant, rapid pain cut her cheek once again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which was supposed to remove the feeling of discomfort.

“Are you leaving?” Darlene asked, opening her eyes wider. “For how long?”

“A few days. You can tell Biagio.” she nodded. Darlene moved faster than necessary and left the kitchen.

Deborah reached for a steel cigarette case, got one from the inside, and put it in her mouth. “Tell Mr Solomons that I won't be at work anytime soon.” she said, hearing Edith’s footsteps. Deborah lit a cigarette with a hidden in one of the kitchen drawers match. “Tell him that I'm fine. That I just want to spend some time with my family.”

“Where are you going then?” Edith asked. She was surprised, because the only Deborah's family known to Edith also lived in London. At least that's the version Deborah maintained whenever she mentioned her father.

“To Birmingham, Edith.” she breathed out, puffing gray smoke from her mouth. “To fucking Birmingham.”

 

*

 

Pleasantly warm water was surrounding Deborah's body. Small foam islands floated around, and the aroma of rose bath oil mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke were spreading around. Deborah reached for a wine-filled glass and emptied it, pouring the remaining contents into her throat. Then she put out the cigarette, throwing it into the water and got out of the bath. She wrapped herself in a soft towel, cleared up a small mess on the floor, and immediately left the room. She headed for a temporary bedroom at Ada's house. She put on her bathrobe she had brought with her, and went downstairs.

Ada was waiting in the living room. She was staring at an indefinable, distant point, but when she heard the footsteps, she glanced at Deborah. Her short, wet hair reached her jawline, and a dark red, stitched line crossed her cheek. Ada frowned in worry and bit her lip. “What is it this time?” she asked disappointedly. Ada was hoping that Deborah would break free and one day leave Biagio. But that day was not coming, and Deborah was slowly becoming a ghost.

Deborah sat in a chair parallel to the sofa occupied by Ada and let out a heavy breath. She looked around the room for a moment, hunting for the right answer on one of the walls. Soon, she gazed at her friend's face, but it took several more minutes before she spoke. “I came home a bit later than usual.” she began. There was no need to introduce Ada in details. She knew that Deborah worked at Alfie Solomons' bakery as part of a cooperation agreement between Solomons and Biagio. “Biagio noticed this.” Deborah circled her finger around her mouth.

Ada narrowed her eyes and leaned toward Deborah. “What _this_?” she asked. The dimness in the living room made it difficult for her to see the fading scratches. “I think I see it. So, what is this?”

“Abrasions. When a man has a beard...” Deborah paused. She settled back in her seat and looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. Ada was watching her expectantly. She knew exactly what Deborah was aiming for. However, she wanted her to confess it herself. Out loud. She seemed absorbed by the excess of thoughts and memories already. “Me and Alfie Solomons... we were fucking. In his bakery.”

“Oh... fuck!” Ada moaned. “Again?”

“What do you mean _again_?”

“Benny didn't come from the moon!” she said. Deborah nodded, agreeing Ada. “You and Solomons..? You..?”

Deborah looked elsewhere again. She thought about Ada's question even before she asked it. She thought about it, covering the distance between the bakery and her home. And on the way to Birmingham. And no matter how long and intense she was thinking about herself and Alfie, nothing sensible came to her mind. She didn't know the answer, because after Deborah and Alfie finished, they parted without a word. They agreed nonverbally that it would be better if they both returned to their work.

“Debby” Ada spoke softly. She put her hand on Deborah's lap, gaining her attention. “Have you ever stopped loving him?”

 

*

_Eleven years earlier._

Deborah pushed the glazed door of the jewelry store and went inside, setting the high-mounted bell in motion – it made a enjoyable, yet loud sound. The bell was supposed to inform about the newcomer, and so far it was doing well. Still, the place was empty. There was a lack of jewelry viewers or potentially interested buyers, as well as the jeweler himself, in this case Mr Solomons.

She took her hands behind her back and walked slowly to the counter. She leaned over the glass and looked at the rings, bracelets, earrings and brooches studded with all kinds of precious stones. Deborah never showed interest in this type of jewelry, but this time she devoted more attention to it. She was looking at the fern-leaf pin, covered with tiny emerald particles, which were giving a color to the plant originally made of silver.

Mr Solomons emerged from behind a red curtain. He glanced at Deborah, put on a smile and cleared his throat loud enough to made her aware of his presence.

Deborah raised her gaze, straightened, and also curved her lips in a friendly gesture before she began to speak. Although she didn't have much to say anyway. Not to someone who tried not to show how much he didn't tolerated her. “Good morning, Mr Solomons. Is Alfie here? When we saw each other last time, he said I could come on Thursday. And Thursday it is.”

Solomons adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and frowned slightly. “When was the last time you saw each other if I may ask?” he controlled Alfie constantly. He had been finding out about all Alfie's meetings, as if he were keeping extremely important documentation about the life of his younger son.

“On Tuesday.”

He forced another, not entirely honest smile and let Deborah behind the counter. “I almost forgot” he spoke before Deborah overcame the curtain. “How is your mother health?”

Solomons continued to doing business with Deborah's father. And Robert occasionally mentioned the condition of his wife. Margaret's health, or rather its sudden deterioration, was the subject of many rumors that circulated around Camden Town. Deborah tried not to pay attention to the whispers she had heard on the streets. One thing was certain – Margaret was fading bit by bit every day, and her time was coming to an end.

“Not the best. Thank you though.” she smiled sadly. She wasn't going to hide the truth and calm everyone around, which was pointless, given long tongues of the Margaret's friends. “I’ll told her that you asked.”

“Also, send my regards. We will be praying for her.” He said. No matter how much he opposed the innocent relationship between Deborah and his son, in the face of this tragedy Solomons didn't intend to dig another hole under her. He could be harsh but not malicious.

Deborah crossed a corridor bathed in dusk. She was surrounded by the coolness of the place, and the sound of her footsteps on the stone floor was bouncing off the bare walls. Soon she got to the right room. The studio door was wide open, so from that place Deborah could see Alfie leaning over the table. He was so busy that he didn't notice her presence.

Deborah crept from behind and covered his eyes with her hands. Alfie quickly grabbed her wrist and squeezed it in an impulsive reflex. It took him a moment to realize that it was her. He recognized her above all by the sweet, floral scent, by the way how tips of her hair tickled the nape of his neck.

“Ah fuck, forgive me. Didn’t know that was you.” Alfie muttered.

Deborah massaged her wrist, smiling without a trace of resentment, and sat down on the edge of the table. Alfie took a deep breath and looked at her reluctantly, and the view on his face ripped a smile from Deborah's lips. There was a dark purple bruise under Alfie's right eye. A slight swelling covered the lower eyelid, too. And Alfie's mouth, his plushy, plump lips were also not looking the best – a quite fresh incision adorned his bottom lip from the same side.

Deborah let out breath she was holding and carefully took Alfie's cheeks in her hands. She wanted to take a better look at the injuries, but her gesture was mostly filled with affectionate motives. “What happened? Who did it to you?” she asked, frowning with a worry she hadn't felt in a long time. She couldn't remember the moment her stomach tightened in unpleasant cramps of anxiety and disappointment. A disappointment, because something like this could happen to anyone, and it fell on Alfie.

Alfie had been always craving for Deborah's touch, otherwise he would release himself from her embrace. Instead, he looked her in the eye. Without words, he was asking her to leave the case alone or at least let him settle her own way. But Deborah showed an extraordinary determination, which, when worried, looked extremely devastating. “It's just a bunch of half-grown lads, yeah? Not worth the attention. Not worth of **your** attention.” he replied calmly. “I will feel better when ya sit down nicely and tell me about your day.” he put on a soft smile.

Deborah rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I want to know the names.”

“The names?” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “And ‘ow do I supposed to know their fucking names? People have a way of not introducing themselves before they beat ya up!”

 

*

 

Deborah didn't have the slightest resistance and in the evening she appeared in the bar where Alfie had been a few days earlier. She stepped inside, walking with extraordinary confidence. She stopped at a dingy, dilapidated counter and ordered a pint of beer. The bartender stared at her in surprise, filling a large vessel with alcohol. Deborah was a rather small, slim girl with a friendly face.

A male, loud croaking made her turn her head. She glanced at the man standing nearby. He talked to another fellow, they both laughed until they went red. Deborah raised an eyebrow, leaned her elbow on the counter and cleared her throat. One of them turned his gaze on her first. The second took a little more time.

“Alby Nichols and Michael Ferry?” she asked with a smile. The men looked at each other, then turned back to Deborah.

“It depends who's asking.”

Deborah laughed briefly. She reached for the mug the barman had given her, and took a solid sip. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looked around and shrugged. She came closer, wandered her hand down her back, and slid the revolver out from under the belt. She stuck it to the dewlap of the alleged Alby Nichols before he knew it. “Alfie fucking Solomons is asking.” she raised her eyebrows. Michael was about to react, but when he twitched, Deborah grabbed the bottle next to her, smashed it against the edge of the counter, and aimed it at him. “One more step and I'll cut you.” she warned with a wide smile. She glanced at Nichols again. “A little bird told me that you are not particularly brave, but the right company makes you show off, eh? So, why him?”

“Come on.” he exhaled. “It's a bloody Jew!”

“Well, you are partly right.” she admitted. Unexpectedly, she took the swing and scratched Alby's cheek with sharp edges of the bottle. The man screamed and stepped back abruptly. Deborah was not afraid of possible revenge or attack. After all, Alby Nichols will not tell anyone that it was a woman who hurt him.

 

*

_Now._

 

The clouds were like cotton candy sold at festivals. They seemed to settle in the morning sky in a cool shade of blue, though they were actually moving lazily ahead. Deborah was staring at the phenomenon, holding a steaming cup. She hadn't had the chance to take a sip of the tea yet, but the hot liquid warmed her hands pleasantly.

It was almost six in the morning. Deborah hasn't been sleeping for an hour. Sleep had been coming to her with increasing difficulty, and when she finally had a chance to rest, her mind was full with images that she didn't understand.

“Debs” Ada appeared in the room. She was clearly sleepy, she spoke with a characteristic morning hoarseness. “There is a call for you.”

“At this hour?” Deborah frowned. She put the cup down on the windowsill and went downstairs with Ada. Ada announced that she was going back to bed. Deborah nodded knowingly and took over the phone receiver. “Yes..?”

“Deborah” Tommy's voice also sounded different, indicating tiredness and probably a sudden wake up. He cleared his throat. “I have a guest who demands your visit. I would handle it in other way, but since it is five forty in the morning...”

“Of course, right...” she interrupted reassuringly. She was afraid that Biagio had followed her from London. The fact that he wouldn't dare raise his hand on her at Thomas Shelby's house cast a little positive on the situation. “And who is that..?”

“Alfie Solomons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share your thoughts with me!!
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> (also, if you have some questions, or you want to tell me something, or WHATEVER, everything, there is my tumblr -> https://vnchor80s.tumblr.com)
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> :^)


	10. Black Crows

Tommy's large, probably haunted house looked even more terrifying than usual. It was surrounded by white clouds of morning fog. The green leaves of the trees were moving carefully under the influence of the gentle wind. The same wind that was hitting Deborah's silhouette. It forced her to wrap her coat tighter.

She went to the door. Before she could knock, Mary poked her head out. She smiled at Deborah, then removed herself in the doorstep. She took Deborah's coat, and though the low temperature in the house was giving her goosebumps, she didn't protest. Mary didn't even realize that Deborah was wearing only a nightgown.

“Mr Shelby and the other gentleman are waiting in Mr Shelby's office.” Mary said, friendly smile on her face. Deborah smiled back, rubbing her cold hands together. “Would you like some warm tea?” Mary asked after a moment, and Deborah nodded. “I’ll get it for you.” she added and left.

Deborah headed to the room Mary mentioned earlier. She wasn't looking at the dark walls and the paintings she knew by heart. She wanted to get into the office as soon as possible, and she couldn't let anything distract her. She turned the door handle and pushed another pair of heavy doors. The smell of cigarette smoke was mixing with the air in the room. Thomas and Alfie both glanced at Deborah. Thomas looked indifferent, though the slight twitch of his face muscles indicated that he didn't particularly like what he was seeing – a large bandage on Deborah's face. Alfie didn't seem as mysterious as Tommy. He frowned, and Deborah could almost hear his thoughts. And if Biagio were in the same room with them, Alfie would strangle him to death.

Tommy cleared his throat and put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the desk. “I'll leave you.” he said, shortly after he left the room.

Alfie approached Deborah with a slow, cautious steps. In case Biagio managed to discourage her to all men without exception. Alfie took off his coat, which Mary apparently had no chance to take away from him, and put it on Deborah's shoulders. “It is fuckin’ freezin’ in ‘ere. And ya are trembling, mate.” he said. He stared at her before he took a step back. “And you wear… only your underwear.” he pursed his lips. The view alone didn't matter that much, it didn't shock Alfie, didn't cause negative feelings. Still, it brought the memories back. The moment Alfie saw Deborah for the first time – as an embarrassed, just pulled out of bed eighteen-year-old girl. The problem was how much has changed since then. “Haven't ya had time to get dress?”

“I didn't know the reason why you came so suddenly, so it seemed to me that the case is serious.” she shrugged. She put her arms into the sleeves of the coat and wrapped herself in it, inhaling the scent. It didn't smelled like a rum or any other type of alcohol. It smelled fresh. It smelled like a cool wind. “Why are you here?” Deborah raised her gaze at Alfie.

“Because I didn't believe a word from your maid's mouth.” he raised his eyebrows. “You come every fucking day for a round month, right? For a round month, no day off. And then we're fucking in me bakery, and suddenly ya ‘ave to go to your family.” he frowned theatrically. “And I was not wrong. He fucking hurt ya. He went too fucking far.”

Deborah sighed resignedly, rubbing her forehead. “Alfie...”

“ _Alfie_ what?” he asked in a raised tone. Irritation surfaced, flooding everything around. Alfie wasn't angry, though he was close to it. He couldn't understand what Deborah was trying to do. “What holds you by ‘is side? What makes you want to be stuck in ‘his ‘ell?”

“That’s not the point!” Deborah protested sharply. Alfie looked like he wanted to say something more. A burning need dried his lips, but fueled his mind. Still, he didn't say a word. “If I leave, Biagio will kill me. Or he will be slowly destroying my life for years, lurking somewhere in the dark corner. And what kind of life is this, huh? Fearing that something will collapse at any moment.” she smiled without a shadow of real joy. She shook her head. “If you kill him, you'll bring a bad luck on us. A fucking Sicilian mafia. And believe me, Alfie,” she took a few steps toward him. “there are things even bigger than you. Than God Himself.”

Alfie was staring at Deborah. He was breathing calmly, which was an unusual phenomenon in his case. He knew Deborah was right. But he was who he was. He acted impulsively, brutally and usually didn't pay attention to the consequences that followed. Why should he, if he had all London in his grip?

He grabbed Deborah's chin tenderly. She flinched at the moment she felt the rough skin of his hands on her own. “Fuck this Sicilian mafia, alright?” he managed a smile. And he smiled so sweetly that a heat wave passed through Deborah's body. She knew that smile. It belonged to her lovely boy, whom she thought she had lost for good. He had been appearing in some small things, in unexpected moments. “The skirmish wif’ the Sicilians is nothing compared to the War. Mothers lost their sons and wives their husbands. And it is just another fuckin’ wop. I care about you. We all want you to be safe. Did ya see Tommy's face? He was terrified. Fucking terrified.”

“Tommy Shelby was _fucking terrified?_  Since when can you recognize it?” she laughed softly. Alfie's smile reached his eyes. He was amused and charmed by the innocence of the current moment. “No.” Deborah whispered after a long silence, during which they were looking at each other without a word. “I will lose more than I can bear. I lost you and couldn't do anything about that. I'm not going to risk, Alfie.”

“Ya couldn’t do anyfing about that, eh?” Alfie repeated mockingly. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” he shook his head.

Deborah suspected that Alfie had constructed his own version of truth from scraps that he had been discovering over the years. She felt a strong urge to tell him everything - from the moment he got on the train to the day they met again. But she was afraid. Alfie was still too hurt to see things as they were. Deborah feared he wouldn't believe her. That he would reject her, accusing her of lying. Once she wouldn't have the slightest resistance to do this, but Biagio broke her, persuading all these years how worthless she is.

Mary entered the room. Before that, she knocked carefully on the wooden door, but Deborah was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she didn't notice a thing. The woman set down the silver tray with three steaming cups of tea, nodded, and left.

“When are you coming back to Camden Town? You can't leave the bakery for too long.” Deborah rubbed her hands on her shoulders, gazing across the floor. She was already missing conversations with Ollie, as well as spending time with Roy, Bill and Freddie. She missed this old, dusty building.

Alfie allowed himself to sit on the sofa. He put his hands on his cane and looked at the window. The rising sun cast a cool light into the room. “Ollie can handle it for a few hours. I canceled the meetings so that the boy wouldn't get too tired.” he sneered, pursing his lips.

Deborah grabbed one of the cups - the one that contained the lightest color of liquid. Mary knew perfectly that Deborah prefers tea with milk. She sat down next to Alfie and dipped her upper lip in a hot drink. She set the cup down on a nearby table and ran her tongue over her mouth, collecting the last of the flavor. “He can definitely handle it. He is not stupid.” Deborah rolled her eyes and put her hand on Alfie's forearm. She stroked it comfortingly.

Alfie immediately glanced at the place where her slim, trembling fingers rested. Then he looked up to her face. He was gazing at her pale skin. That was why he called her a _doll_ years ago. Because her face was like porcelain. Now, it no longer looked as healthy as it once did. There were fading bruises and other marks on it, not to mention the red line hidden under the dressing. Alfie thought that she had chosen such a fate for herself. On the other hand, he blamed himself for allowing such a thing.

He raised a hand to her face. He gently ran his thumb over her chin, then hooked her lower lip with it. Deborah didn't wince at his touch like she had been doing with Biagio. She felt safe when Alfie was next to her. And without thinking much, she wrapped her lips around his thumb. She looked into Alfie's eyes, sucking his finger. She lowered her eyelids, her cheeks grew concave, and Alfie held his breath, watching her. When he finally took his hand away, a short and weak bundle of saliva was connecting Deborah's mouth and his thumb for a moment.

Deborah climbed at Alfie’s thighs. The cane he held until now fell on the wooden panels with a loud crash. But Alfie needed free hands to be able to place them on Deborah's buttocks. He did it for fear of her possible fall, although they both doubted it could happen. “I can’t, Alfie.” she whispered. She clung to his lips in a short, greedy kiss. “I can't pretend I don't need you. Because I do.”

Alfie stared down at her, still stunned by her sudden kiss, her closeness. “And I need you. I fuckin’ need you.” he said with a heavy breath. Deborah put a hand on the back of his neck and brushed the tips of his hair with her fingers. “Are ya in pain again, love? Ya want me to ease it?”

“No.” she shook her head. She began to move her hips subtly. Her bottom was brushing Alfie's crotch, slowly driving him to a madness. Deborah felt a growing bulge that in itself was giving her pleasure with every move. “Not this time.” she added in an undertone. She leaned back a little, and the bend of her body emphasized her collarbones, ribs, and showed her cleavage. Alfie put a hand on her breast, thumb brushing her nipple, his fingers of the other hand dug into her bum.

Deborah leaned forward and kissed Alfie again. Their lips clung together much longer than the first time. She tickled the tip of Alfie's palate, and he grunted in satisfaction. He moved his hand under the nightgown she was wearing. He stroked her thigh, and when Deborah pressed Alfie's crotch a little harder, he clenched his fingers.

Deborah moved away for one purpose. She immediately unbuttoned Alfie's pants and slipped them off with his help. Alfie lifted Deborah's pajamas. She was wet and swollen, pulsating with desire.

“Go on, love.” he muttered. Deborah lowered her hips and moaned hollowly as the head of Alfie's hard cock stuck in her. She bit her lip and put her hand on his shoulder for better stability. Shortly afterwards he filled her to the end. “Fucnkin’ ‘ell. Good girl.” Alfie praised and placed a kiss on her lips.

Deborah began to make slow, a bit inept movements. She felt sore and tired, but she knew that she needed a few minutes to get used to it again. She was in no hurry, she tried to receive all the thrust fully. Besides, Alfie had time. He certainly had enough of it to wait for Deborah to be more confident. He was watching her in all this, admired the slightly parted lips, barely opened eyes and sweat drops on her forehead. 

The room seemed to fill with the warmth they produced. The walls were absorbing also moans that Deborah tried to suppress. But she couldn't be silent when Alfie's cock was rubbing against her soft inside, as he was stimulating the wet, sensitive walls of hers. 

Deborah moved faster and faster. Their bodies was colliding with each other. At that moment, she wasn't thinking about her life. She didn't care about the pain, didn't bring back memories of the last night. She focused only on what  Alfie was leading her to. On how close to the explosion she was.

Alfie was observing her face mostly. She was completely different when she was fucking him. Carefree, at the same time concentrated and determined to achieve a goal that would satisfy both of them. From time to time he looked at her bouncing breasts, refraining from touching them.

Dark spots flooded her field of view. She tilted her head back abruptly and stopped any movement, unable to even budge. Her legs were shaking in pleasure spasms, Alfie kept his hands on her hips in case the orgasm turned out to be too rapid. Breathing heavily, she looked at him. He seemed worried, but Deborah decided to change it. A few final moves led Alfie to the edge. He pursed his lips, grunted, and released a decent charge of air that had accumulated in his lungs. Deborah felt the wet, sticky warmth spilling inside of her.

She kissed the corner of Alfie's mouth as he continued to catch deep breaths. “It felt nice.” she smiled.

“Nice, eh?” he repeated incredulously and shook his head. “You ‘aven't changed at all.”

 

*

 

Thomas entered the room with a cigarette in his mouth. He glanced at Alfie, who was sitting on the armrest of the sofa, and raised his eyebrows. “You have waited.” he said. He went to the alcohol table and chose one of the bottles available. He poured a small amount into a low, wide glass. “Don't tell me which piece of furniture it was. Just take it with you.”

Tommy's mansion was huge, with lots of rooms. Still, when there was dead silence everywhere, the only sound became the center of attention. Thomas could easily understand why Deborah and Alfie spent in his office more time than necessary. He heard her. He heard her perfectly.

“So,” Thomas cleared his throat. He took the place that actually belonged to him. Behind a massive wooden desk. “You wanted to talk. Let's talk.”

“Yeah, exactly. Let’s talk about fuckin’ Biagio Castellano.” Alfie pursed his lips, staring at Shelby with his eyes wide open, almost theatrical curiosity. As if he was asking _what the fuck are you thinking?_ “Actually, I am wonderin' why he is still alive. Why he doesn't have a fuckin’ idea where he belongs. I know where he belongs. Ya know where he belongs. But he does not have a fucking idea.”

“Alfie,” Thomas sighed heavily. The cigarette between his fingers was spreading suffocating smell. “What is your point?”

“I want to know, right? I want to know why you do not react to what you see. You saw what he did to her. It wouldn't ‘ave happened if ya took matters into yer own hands. And you sit ‘ere and feel sorry for yerself like a little girl.” Alfie was speaking calmly. But his peace was as stable as the card house. “Ya and yer fuckin’ Peaky Boys.”

Thomas scratched his thumb over his upper lip. He frowned as if he didn't understand what Alfie was up to. But he wasn't stupid. “I’ll tell you.” he raised his eyebrows. “Deborah is grown and sensible. If she needed help, she would say. But she knows that Biagio is a dangerous enemy for us to fight.” he leaned back in his seat. “Deborah is a part of this family. But until she determine the right moment, I have me hands tied.”

“She does not know she need help, for fuck’s sake.” Alfie said. “But she doesn't ‘ave to know. All she needs is to receive it. This ‘s why I came ‘ere.” he spread his arms in a savior gesture. Immediately afterwards he placed his hands on the cane.

Tommy tilted his head back and scanned the ceiling. He smiled, inhaled and glanced at Alfie again. “The killing of Biagio Castellano? You do business with him through your weakness for Italians,” he stated, pointing at Alfie with the smoldering tip of the cigarette. “so you know about the mafia.”

“I know ‘bout fucking mafia. I am aware of fucking mafia.” Alfie agreed. “But I cannot stand there and watch him slowly take her life, can I? Ya know her. Ya knew her years ago, and ya know that she is not the same person. He changed her into a timid, insecure woman. And our Debby was about to become somfing bigger than ‘his.”

“I’ll talk to Arthur and John.” Tommy answered almost immediately. “But I don't expect them to protest.”

 

*

 

The dark blue sky stretched from one horizon to another. Black crows were cutting the vault, but instead of making animal noises, they were screaming like tortured people. Deborah covered her ears with her hands, but it soon turned out that the screams were trapped inside her head. The trees around seemed dead due to the lack of leaves. There was a muddy, bare field under Deborah's feet. She wasn't wearing shoes, her feet and hands were covered with ground and something sticky.

She saw the figure lying on the area in the distance. The distance was too long for Deborah to assess the character's identity. She started running in that direction. Her legs refused to obey, every few steps she sank into the ground, which seemed to want to swallow her. And the farther she went, the farther she was from the destination. The crows kept screaming, the trees were whispering in an obscure language.

“ _Mum._ ”

Deborah looked around desperately. It was Benjamin's voice. And it pierced her mind again and again.

“ _Mum! Help me!_ ”

Benjamin clearly needed her and she couldn't help him. She couldn't even find him, though there was nothing around except a few trees. It was only after a time, that seemed to flow for years, that she realized that her son's voice was coming from the point where she had been rushing to from the very beginning. A shapeless element in the distance was asking for help. With Benjamin's voice.

Deborah tried again. This time, nothing prevented her from getting there. An unidentified object that previously looked like a human figure was gradually approaching. It turned out to be a white sheet, stained with soil and blood. The same blood she had on her hands. She knelt and hurriedly pulled off the material that was moving in the wind.

It was him. It was Benjamin. His face was ashy, the skin on his cheeks cracked, showing rotten meat. His mouth was opened in a scream of terror he experienced. Big, black bugs and smaller, white larvae escaped from between his lips. His eyes seemed to be behind a misty coating. But he turned his head and looked at her, and when the last insect left his mouth, they moved in a few words. “ _You could have saved me._ ”

 

Deborah sat up abruptly and immediately looked around the room.

“It’s alright now.” the arms that appeared in the darkness embraced Deborah and pressed her against a warm body. She heard a calming, slow heartbeat that didn't sound like her own at all. Her heart wanted to jump out of the chest; break her ribs with strong blows and leave her body. “You are safe.” Tommy's hoarse voice, that owed its tone to the years of smoking and drinking alcohol, broke into her mind and slowed down all processes in her head. She felt calm again, like then when she was falling asleep.

“Tommy...” she gasped and looked at him. Thomas placed his hands on both sides of her face, making their eye contact easier. “Where is Ben?”

“Still at Ada's.” he said. He slowly took his hands away, one of them slid over her shoulder and stroked it. “All right?” Tommy wasn't used to being soft, certainly not since Grace died. But all the warmth that was hidden in his recesses was just pouring over Deborah. He knew she needed it. That, just after waking up, she was like a lost child. And Thomas and his brothers promised to take care of her as befits a family.

Deborah nodded. She looked away, and it wasn't long before she cried at the thought of her child. About dead Benjamin, who blamed her for his death. Thomas once again hugged her body in a firm but tender grip. He stroked her hair, saying it was over and everything was fine. The problem was that the end has yet to come.


	11. The Justice, the Judgement and the Fucking Executioner.

The branches of the trees were swaying lazily in the wind, rustling leaves sounded calming in its own way. Especially when the sun was there too. It was hanging high, its golden rays breaking through the crowns of the trees, falling unevenly on the silhouettes underneath. Deborah tilted her head back and lowered her eyelids, letting the sun brush her pale skin.

She looked again at the bunch of children playing on the lawn. Benjamin, Karl, Charlie, as well as John's kids were running around Ada's garden. Benjamin was holding Maggie's – the youngest daughter of John and Esme – hand. He was careful with her, and shielded her from the rest if necessary. Deborah couldn't help smiling, watching the couple of rosy, happy faces.

Esme appeared in the garden. She passed the kids running around, and struggled to sit on the blanket next to Deborah. She rested her back on a tree trunk and her head on Deborah's shoulder. She placed her hand on her huge belly and sighed heavily. “Does it really relax you? Looking at a bunch of kids?” she asked incredulously. Before Deborah could answer, there was a loud cry in the garden. They both looked in that direction, Esme sat up straight. “Oi!” she yelled. Little Maggie turned out to be the source of crying. “I'm going there...” Esme gasped.

“Stay here.” Deborah stopped her, placing her hand on Esme’s knee. “I’ll go.” she said. Esme sighed gratefully as Deborah spared her getting up and running after her children. Deborah hurried to the scene of a minor accident. She looked at Maggie's face – red and wet from tears – and knelt beside her. “What is happening, sweetheart?” she asked softly. Maggie, choking on the sudden lack of air intake skills, pointed to her scuffed knee. “Oh, it’s all right now.” Deborah stroked the girl's hair, then helped her up. Finally, she took Maggie in her arms so that she could cuddle into Deborah's neck.

“I’ll take her.” Esme held out her hands. But Maggie stuck to Deborah, and Deborah herself didn't see a problem in calming the upset child. Esme smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. “You are saving my life. These kids are real devils. And there will be more and more of them. They’re like a plague, you know?” she rolled her eyes. Deborah laughed and stroked Maggie's back.

The rest of the children seemed to ignore Maggie's absence. Anyway, Maggie showed no desire to return to the lawn, so she remained in Deborah's arms. Esme looked somewhere behind Deborah's back. She opened her eyes wider, then nodded in the same direction. Deborah looked over her shoulder quickly. She held her breath, eyebrows raised. Alfie stood there. In the passage between the garden and the living room.

“What is he doing here again...” Deborah gasped under her breath.

“I will leave you two alone. It looks like he wants to see you badly.” Esme was ready to get up from the blanket once again, but Deborah gave her a warning look.

“Don’t. We will go somewhere else.”

“With my child?” Esme frowned, smiling with amusement. Deborah shrugged helplessly, and that another attempt to tear Maggie apart from Deborah was also a defeat, she moved towards Alfie. “Be a good girl!”

“She will be.” Deborah replied looking back at Esme.

Esme laughed, biting her lip. “I was talking to you!”

Deborah smiled to herself, rolled her eyes and finally stood near Alfie. He looked the same as he looked yesterday. The condition of his skin indicated stress and excessive work, which he had undoubtedly experienced recently. In spite of all, he seemed more relaxed that day, he was emanating calmness.

“‘his one is yours as well?” he asked, pointing at Maggie. The girl watched Alfie with curiosity written on her face. Deborah suspected that Maggie had never seen anyone or anything like that.

“No. Not this time.” she replied, wrinkling her nose. “I cannot believe you have nothing better to do. The road from Camden Town to Birmingham takes how long? Over two hours?” she continued, moving forward, to a wooden bench nearby. “Do you really have so much of free time?”

Alfie smiled and shook his head. He sat up with a heavy grunt and rested his hands on the cane he placed between his knees. “I don't know. I usually know everyfing I need to know, right? But now... I just don't. I don't ‘ave fuckin’ idea why am I wasting me precious time and coming ‘ere.”

Maggie yawned loudly. Alfie looked at the child in surprise. After a while, his face took on a soft but still surprised expression. He pursed his lips. He felt this strange, unpleasant stabbing pain in his chest. He knew what it was. He had never thought about it before, but seeing Deborah with the child, having Benjamin somewhere nearby, he realized that he regretted some decisions he made in the past. He lost all the years he could spend with Deborah, with their son. Instead, the boy had no idea who Alfie was to him. He missed everything.

Alfie reached into his coat. He got one chocolate candy out of many rustling, empty papers in his pocket. He offered it to Maggie. “Go on. This one ‘s for ya.” he smiled friendly. Deborah knew that smile, but couldn't remember when it last appeared on his face.

Maggie took over the candy and devoted all her attention to it immediately. Deborah laughed briefly as she watched the child's actions. Finally, she looked at Alfie.

“Why?” he asked suddenly. The warm, youthful smile disappeared and was replaced by clear bitterness. “Why didn't ya wait for me? I had plans. _We_ had plans.” he frowned. “A few years was enough to tear ‘em down? To fuckin’ ashes?”

Deborah swallowed hard. She removed Maggie from her lap and put her on the grass. “Go to your mum, sweetheart.” she smiled. The girl rushed to Esme, giggling along the way. Deborah took a short breath, running her hands over her thighs. “It's more complicated than it may seem. I had no choice, Alfie.” she said barely audible. She looked away and set her gaze on a clump of green blades of grass.

 

*

_Ten years earlier._

 

Deborah was watching Alfie say goodbye to his mother. Yeva was a petite, rather bony woman, yet she hugged her son with more strength than anyone would have expected. Yeva's gray eyes, which looked like Alfie's, filled with tears, but not one ran down her cheek. Deborah met her as a strong woman and remained so. Especially in the face of the impending disaster, which the War was. Yeva had to say goodbye to her two sons, and she couldn't be sure if any of them would come back to her.

Next in line was Alfie's younger sister, twenty-year-old Sarah. Unlike the others, she gave her brothers a broad smile that brought hope. She was like a ray of sunshine, delivering some positive feelings. “If you come back in a coffin to us, I will bring you to life only to kick your arse.” she said, embracing Alfie's neck.

“Sarah.” Yeva scolded her daughter, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling. Her children showed no paralyzing fear; the boys weren't begging to save them from the nearing tragedy, Sarah wasn't crying over the fate of her brothers. And that was keeping Yeva up.

At the very end Alfie stood before Deborah. For the first dozen or so seconds they didn't say a word. Alfie was looking at her with a smile, and Deborah smiled at him back. Soon, he hugged her tightly, firmly pressing her against his body. Deborah took a deep breath, inhaled the scent she knew. “Sarah is right.” she said and pulled back enough to be able to look at Alfie's face freely. “And I swear to God, I’ll help her.” she said with conviction.

Alfie chuckled. “I can't let ya both walk all over me, can I? I have no choice. I have to come back in one piece. And I will.” he said, shrugging carelessly.

“You have to.” Deborah nodded. She reached to the nape of her neck and unfastened the necklace with one neat movement. The one that Alfie repaired. A thin, silver piece of jewelry with a swallow-shaped pendant. The swallow was a gift from Alfie, as a complement to the whole. “You must come back and return it to me.” she raised her eyebrows. She fastened the chain around his neck.

Alfie couldn't see the necklace since it was too short. However, he could grab the pendant between his fingers and become familiar with its structure and shape again. “Are you sure, love?” he asked half a tone quieter. Deborah nodded firmly, her lips tightening a smile. “So it’s a deal.”

“Deal.” Deborah held out a hand that Alfie shook.

The train made a loud gasp, indicating an approaching departure. Deborah froze, realizing that these were the last moments. She knew well that Alfie would disappear for a long, indefinite time. She looked at him, parting her trembling lips. But Alfie didn't let her say a word. He kissed her violently but tenderly, closing her mouth.

“Do not say anything more, Debby.” he whispered, placing his hands on her cheeks. “I know everything I should know. Alright? You don't have to say anything more. We’ll talk when I get back.”

But Deborah couldn't fulfill his request. She put a hand on his hand, holding it with her fingers clenched around. “Don’t go.” she asked faintly.

“Everything will be alright.” he promised. He placed a cautious, slightly longer than usual kiss on her forehead. He absorbed her warmth, presence, and smell of her hair. And finally he pulled away and went straight to the steel machine. He looked back several times, giving Deborah a smile each time. That's why she smiled too, seeing him for the last.

 

*

 

The betting shop was almost empty, extremely gloomy and quiet. Arthur, who was definitely too loud, and John laughing most of the time were missing. Tommy was usually quiet so his absence wasn't particularly bothersome. In addition, Polly has been nervous ever since the boys left. She had to deal with the whole business alone, she had Ada and Finn on her head. Deborah decided to help her for these several reasons. She preferred to be in Birmingham with Aunt Polly than with her incessantly complaining father. Over time, Robert created more and more problems in every possible field.

Polly was reviewing the accumulated papers. Most men were at the War, so profits fell dramatically. But Polly didn't complain, she acted instead. Ada dealt with browsing and filling books, though she didn't like it at all. Her thoughts were with Freddie, and she only wanted him to come home soon. Deborah was responsible for counting and accounting and Martha was looking after little Finn. 

Deborah felt happy among the people she loved. Even if a significant part of them was at the front. Still, she could feel joy. She could laugh with Ada, Polly and Martha in the evenings, play with Finn, smile at passers-by during walks. Until she began to feel tired and sore.

“What's up with you?” Polly raised an eyebrow at Deborah one time. She got up from the table and went to Deborah standing by the kitchen counter tops. She examined her carefully, finally fixed her eyes on hers. Suddenly, with a swift movement, Polly put her hand on Deborah's stomach. “Is that the answer?”

“What?” she asked weakly. “It’s just-”

“You're pregnant, aren’t you?” Polly interrupted. Deborah held her breath, losing all the colors from her face. 

 

*

 

When Robert Rouby found out about the baby, he went absolutely berserk. Not because someone dared to touch his beloved daughter in that way. He was furious because Deborah had no husband and people would start gossiping. As if he hadn't heard enough about his family when Margaret was sick. Robert saw only one good solution for everyone. He decided to immediately look for a candidate for Deborah's husband. Nobody knew exactly how or under what circumstances Robert met Santino Castellano, but they quickly came to an agreement.

One day, Santino Castellano brought a young man named Biagio to Robert's house. Biagio, like his father, had a swarthy, flawless complexion, hazel eyes and dark, thick hair. He was undeniably handsome. He and his father wore expensive, solid suits. Deborah guessed they weren't middle class workers. 

Santino and Biagio were invited to Robert's house for a dinner. Robert was mainly talking to Santino, Biagio was devoting the most of his time to watching Deborah. He didn't seem to notice her visible, big belly. He was looking at her with delight, he was charmed by her. Because the sadness on her face was giving her almost frigid appeal. She finally looked at him and he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” Biagio said. “You are very beautiful. A little different than the girls in my country, but still beautiful. Like a work of art...” he sighed.

After the meal, when Robert and Santino were discussing the case of their children's, Biagio took Deborah for a walk. It was getting warm, the snow melted some time ago. And although his mother put a lot of effort in instill good manners into Biagio, he no longer pretended not to see Deborah's rounded stomach. “You'll have a baby.” he spoke. He didn't ask but stated the fact. Deborah nodded in the affirmative. She didn't know if she felt strong enough to talk about it. “This means you have a husband?”

“No.” she replied. She took a deep breath, feeling a sudden burst of emotion inside. She has been extremely unstable lately. All memories of Alfie filled her with sadness and worry.

“But someone left you. With the baby.” Biagio continued.

“He did not leave me.” Deborah denied. “He was needed in another place.” she admitted. She didn't say a word that the child's father had no idea that he will be one.

“Where could a man be more needed than at the side of his child's mother?”

This time Deborah felt annoyed. There was nothing else for her to do but answer him, instead of rolling her eyes. “At the front, Biagio.”

 

As long as Santino Castellano and his son were in England, there was no day when Biagio would not visit Deborah. She didn't want his company, or the long walks he offered her, the museums and restaurants he was taking her to. She preferred spending a whole days at home, reading books, cleaning or writing letters that were never sent. 

One day, Biagio appeared with more than another fully planned day. He spent a lot of time talking to Robert. Deborah was sitting at her bedroom then, anticipating what Biagio had come for. She was right – when she decided to go downstairs and greet him with a forced smile, Biagio proposed to her. In the presence of her father, who seemed relieved. It was the first moment for a long time he was truly relaxed.

Robert had enough sense and humanity to convince Santino that Biagio and Deborah should get married in England, not in Italy. Robert had convinced Santino that the father of Deborah's child died in the War, and Deborah found happiness again. With Biagio. That's why Santino was able to agree to everything Robert asked for.

All Deborah's doubts accumulated on the day she was trying a wedding dress on. She asked Polly to be with her that day. Deborah missed her mother like never before. Margaret would never agree to what Robert was doing. “I can't do this, Pol.” Deborah said. She felt that she lacked air. “I'm not ready for this. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with Biagio. He's kind, it's true. He's good...” she confessed in a panic, forgetting about breathing. “But I cannot love him. Not now.”

“Debby,” Polly stroked her hair, then took her face in her hands. Polly also felt powerless, she could do nothing for Deborah. Arthur, Thomas and John were in the clutches of the War. They couldn't help her either. “You need to calm down. You got me. I will never leave you alone. Do you hear me?”

Robert appeared in the room. Deborah and Polly looked at him. He wasn’t happy to see his daughter in a white dress. The more that it only emphasized her large belly.

“Dad,” she gasped and approached him. She hoped that she would awaken some empathy and fatherly feelings in him. “I can't marry Biagio. You must understand me. Please.”

Robert pursed his lips and shook his head. “You _WILL_ marry Biagio Castellano. It is decided. And we won't talk about it again and again. You are getting married in a few days. Get used to this thought, because I'm not going to change my mind. I can't change my mind.”

“But I don't love Biagio, dad.” she protested gently. She had no intention of arguing with her father. Deborah even smiled when she was thinking she saw a slight hesitation in her father's eyes. However, this hesitation didn't apply to the decision related to the marriage. Robert wondered how hard should he react. And he chose the worst option possible. He hit Deborah's face. The moment his hand touched Deborah's cheek, Polly reached into the gun behind her belt. She aimed it directly at Robert's head.

“What are you doing, Polly?!”

Polly nodded slowly, her lips tightening. “Dare to touch her again. And I will kill you.”

“You have fucking gun with you?!” Robert continued, ignoring Polly's tone and attitude.

“Foolishness made you a blind man? I do have a gun. To handle with people like you.”

 

Robert Rouby didn't change his mind. The wedding was to take place, and nothing could prevent it.

Most of the Castellano family came to England. Beautiful, tanned faces stood out from the rest of society. Deborah couldn't stop thinking that she would soon be part of a huge clan. She'd always wanted to belong somewhere, but she never expected to end up this way. Alongside a member of the Sicilian mafia, maybe a future leader.

Deborah didn't remember most of the ceremony. She only knew that she had sworn to God Himself to be with Biagio for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. She wished she had escaped earlier, when she had a chance. She was afraid, however, that Biagio, who was starting to be a bit obsessed with her, would find her everywhere, and he would punish anyone who hindered him from being with Deborah.

Standing at the altar, she looked at the figurine of Christ. She had never felt so betrayed by something she had believed so much before. In exchange for her torment, she only asked for Alfie to get home.

 

*

_Now._

 

“When Benjamin was born, we went to Italy.” Deborah shrugged, nibbling the fabric of her skirt with her fingers. “Biagio is very close with his parents, especially with his mother. But she knew. She knew before me.” she smiled sadly. “She defended me when she had the chance. She could talk some sense into him. She looked after me when Biagio...” she hesitated. She glanced at Alfie. “...when Biagio was overreacting. Then, after a year or two, we moved to New York, and we lived there until now.”

Alfie didn't say a word. He let Deborah tell everything she wanted to tell him, but he couldn't find words that would convey what he felt. And he felt far more than he might have thought. He was angry. Angry at everyone who were involved in this. At anyone who decided to look away and allow for all of this. He felt incredibly depressed – he felt sorry for Deborah. He couldn't imagine what she had to go through all these years.

“Alfie..?” she said after a moment. She refrained from touching him. She wanted to do it but was afraid of his reaction. He didn't look like someone who wanted to be touched now. “Could you-” she paused, hearing her own voice tremble and break. She cleared her throat to get rid of uncertainty and a slight breakdown. “Could you say something?”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” he mumbled. He rose from the bench and walked forward to leave the garden and Ada's estate. Shortly afterwards, Alfie disappeared from Deborah's view, leaving her alone with thoughts screaming in her head. She didn't hear the joyful shouts of the children or Esme's calls. Just the sound of pulsing blood in her ears.

 

*

 

White lightning crossed the dark sky. The walls of rain were cutting off everything around, obstructing any visibility. The streets were empty, nobody would dare to leave the house in this weather. Perhaps a mad man who considers himself as an immortal creature sent from the bottom of hell.

Robert Rouby went to the door when he heard a knock. He did not expect guests, after all no one besides his colleagues visited him. He saw Polly from time to time, but only because Polly felt a sentiment for their friendship. “Who’s there?” he asked in a raised tone. There was silence on the other side of the wooden surface, except for rain and the storm. Robert opened the door behind which the darkness reigned. Still, he was able to see the broad silhouette. And when the next lightning dispersed the space behind the mysterious figure, Robert recognized him.

Alfie took a step forward. Robert was too shocked to try to stop him or even close the door. He backed away, unable to take his eyes off the point where he had just seen the face of the terrifying giant. Solomons dripped water. He was clenching his cane in his hand, and his nostrils widened and narrowed in heavy breaths. He looked like an furious animal. “Ya don’t know who the fuck am I?” Alfie spoke. “I am the justice, the judgement and the fucking executioner, yeah? All in one. But I won't kill you, because it would be God's mercifulness. I'll make the mistakes of yer past haunt you for the rest of yer miserable life.”

“Mistakes of my past?” Robert repeated, barely catching his breath.

At the very beginning, Alfie blamed Deborah about everything. He believed that she had made an unfair, ill-considered choice, even if they had previously promised something completely different to each other. But her side of the story opened his eyes and sorted out the mess that gained strength through the years. Alfie knew he should blame Robert for everything. Because it was his fault that Alfie felt excruciating sadness and anger. Emotions that somehow formed him as an adult. And they appeared for the first time when Alfie got off the train and saw that besides his mother and sister, no one else was waiting for him. He was devastated, he felt cheated. Only now did he realize that the source of all this misfortune was Robert.

“Mistakes of your fucking past!” Alfie burst out. “You are a father, right? And as a father you should protect your children. And ya brought the worst scum, right? The worst scum on your own daughter! You should have protected her, eh? And yet, you traded her for a little peace of mind. Un-fuckin-acceptable. UN-FUCKIN-ACCEPTABLE! And,” he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “ya fuckin’ _hit her_? You raised a hand at Deborah, when she needed her father the most?” he was asking incredulously, even if he knew the answer perfectly well.

“I regret! I truly regret for what I did!” Robert fell to his knees. But they both knew it was far too late. Alfie took the swing and inflicted one solid blow with his cane. Robert fell to the floor, though he was still conscious. He made a loud scream of pain, feeling a blood on his face. Alfie struck again, and then again, driven by madness and fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!
> 
> And also, if you think there should be something else in the flasbacks, something you may have missed, or something more you want to know about their past, feel free to tell me! I will write it with pleasure!


	12. Covered in Blood

Deborah dug the blade of a shovel into the soil. It broke the ground smoothly, not encountering any difficulty along the way. No stones or roots running through the property. Maybe a few earthworms that miraculously avoided being split in a half. Deborah wiped her forehead with her wrist, leaving some dirt on her skin. The dirt adorned also her cheeks and satin nightgown.

“Debby?” Ada’s voice seemed to be coming from behind a thick wall. That wall didn’t exist in any physical sense. It was placed in Deborah’s head, blocking all external stimuli. “What are you doing?” Ada raised her eyebrows in concern.

But Deborah didn’t hear a word. She didn't interrupt the task she set for herself, she didn't feel tired or sore. Ada was also in her pajamas, her face was a bit swollen because of sleep, which she was woken up from. The moon was hanging above their heads, and the ground under their feet was raw from the rain that had fallen a few hours earlier.

Ada touched Deborah’s arm. She clenched her fingers around it firmly, causing Deborah to stop suddenly. Deborah was breathing deeply, her hair was sticking to her wet cheeks and forehead, her eyes didn't seem to see. “Can you hear me at all?” Ada asked and when she noticed that her solid grip was making Deborah uncomfortable, she took her hand away. “What is happening here, Deborah?”

Deborah drove the spade into the ground, but she didn’t reach for it again. She tilted her head back, once more taking a deep, heavy breath. Only now, she felt a terrible back and arms pain that spilled all over her body. She felt the skin burn on her hands, felt the pulsing blisters on them. “I can’t sleep, you know? But when I do, I can’t get a proper rest. I’m fucking exhausted. That what is happening.”

Ada looked around the garden. There were several fresh holes on the lawn, and mounds of soil next to them. “And that's why you're digging my garden in the middle of the night?” she raised her eyebrow, folding her arms. Not only because she had no idea what to do with them. But there was coolness outside.

“Well, you'll have to buy some new, nice flowers. Since you have the places ready.” Deborah shrugged. “You’re welcome.” she blew a strand of hair from her forehead, then ran her fingers through it. And when she remembered how short it was, she gave an uneven breath. “I told Alfie everything.”

Ada raised her eyebrows and looked at Deborah. She knew Deborah wanted to do that at the very beginning; wanted to send a letter or pay a visit. But she never had a chance to do that. “What did he say?” Ada asked.

Deborah shook her head, smiling sadly to herself. Ada considered this a good sign until she saw the tears lurking in Deborah's eyes. Moonlight fell on her face, emphasizing sorrow and disappointment. “He didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe me and walked away.” she said. And despite of fact that Deborah was partly covered in dirt, Ada embraced her tenderly and stroked her back.

 

*

 

Alfie didn't enjoy frequent trips to Birmingham. These travels were tiring him, leaving marks on his aching bones, breaking all day and plans he had. This week had been one big mess. But Alfie kept telling himself that this was an exceptional situation. 

Thomas gathered his brothers for this special visit. Except for Finn, who was supposed to stay aside. John and Arthur were sitting in Thomas's office, no matter how hard Arthur resisted. Each meeting with Solomons was only a return to that one incident. Arthur had never forgotten. He didn't think he would ever be able to do it. 

The room was quiet. Tommy was sitting behind the desk, Arthur on one of the sofas, and John was leaning against the bookshelf. Alfie was staring at the window, standing somewhere behind Thomas' back. Arthur was closely following Solomons' every move, even if it was limited to single winks and breaths.

“Well, Tommy,” Alfie spoke, turning around slowly. “Do we ‘ave any plan? Cos I was thinkin’ about it a lot, right, and came to some conclusions...” he narrowed his eyes for a short moment. “I will strangle ‘im with me bare hands. What do ya think?”

“It’s a mafia. Remember?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. “You wanted a plan.”

“I’ll cut his eyes out. I’m a fucking blinder.” John said. Everyone turned their gaze to him, but no one protested. John moved the toothpick between his fingers and put it back in his mouth. “Did you see her, Tom? Her face?”

“I did, John. I saw it.” Tommy cleared his throat. He reached for a cigarette, ran it over his lips. “But we can’t kill Biagio.”

Arthur took a deep breath. He clenched his fist and looked up at his brother. “Why don't we drown him? In the fookin' bath, eh? What do ya say, Tom?”

“Yeah,” John nodded at the idea of his older brother. “We can throw the body in the river. Or lake.” he shrugged.

Thomas didn't say anything. Instead of words, cigarette smoke was leaving his mouth. But Alfie felt convinced by the first idea in turn. He didn't expect anything creative. He wanted to get rid of Biagio, while not exposing himself and Deborah to the revenge of the Sicilian mafia. Undoubtedly, he would prefer to rip Biagio’s guts out, massacre his face, punish him in the worst possible way for everything he did to Deborah. But there was something bigger Deborah was talking about. Something that Italians called _vendetta_.

“Sounds good to me.” Alfie confessed, frowning in thought. “Didn't think the two of you would come up with it.” he raised his eyebrows. Arthur rose slowly, his jaw clenching.

“Arthur.” Thomas spoke calmly. He didn't react violently, unless the situation demanded it. This one wasn't dynamic enough. “Mr Solomons shows thankfulness in a complicated way. You must forgive him, brother.”

“Forgive him, er? Yeah, I’ll do that.” Arthur said, although those words were burning holes in his tongue and his throat. “But only because of our Debby girl.” he added, slamming his index finger into the air.

“Your Debby,” Alfie repeated with theatrical, mocking reflection. He laughed briefly. “Where were ya, yeah? Where were ya when _our Debby_ came back to her beloved country with this fuckin’ monster? When she was comin’ ‘ere battered and sore? You” he looked at each individual, starting with John, through Tommy, ending with Arthur, since he theoretically talked to him. “You ‘ave been waitin’ for somethin’ like this to happen. And it happened. A fuckin’ scar that will be reminding her of what happened. For the rest of her fuckin’ life. It will be reminding her of her wicked husband, who beat her for every wrong look.”

“She had been working in your bakery for a month.” John interjected. “And what the fuck did you do for her?”

Alfie looked at him and pursed his lips in a nervous impulse. “I, my friend,” he began, and if it wasn't Tommy – sitting nearby – Alfie would have come to John and explain everything to him in his own way. “I kept her away for a ‘hole month. For a moment, I took her away from that life, from her fuckin’ torturer. I saw her happiness. And not only this,” he opened his eyes wider. “I knew I gave her that happiness, right? So use your head now, and pull yourself together, lad.”

 

*

 

Deborah couldn't tell which time it was when she woke up a few hours before the sun. Recently, nightmares about dead Benjamin have escalated, poisoning her mind with unwanted visions. The conversation with Polly calmed her down for a while, but the panic began to reappear.

This night was no exception. Deborah woke up right after she slid the white sheet off her son's rotting body. She was feeling tired, even if she managed to sleep for a few hours. The next dose of sleep required making sure her dreams were just nightmares. So she left her temporary bedroom. The temporary determination was extremely realistic, because in a dozen or so hours Deborah was about to return to London. Biagio wasn't happy when he learned that Deborah and Benjamin were leaving home for some time. Even if he did what he did.

Deborah opened the door to Benjamin's room quietly. She looked inside and found what she expected - her child, sleeping peacefully. She often watched him that way, especially when he was younger. She watched how he breathed calmly, how his hair surrounded his resting face. Even then, he was strikingly like his father. Deborah easily saw Alfie in him, she noticed the similarities they shared. She wondered what their relationship would look like if Alfie had never left. Would Benjamin have troubles getting along with his dad, or would he be looking up to him? Deborah wanted to think that Alfie would be a great father. On the other hand, the belief that Alfie would disown the child hurt a little less.

Benjamin shifted fitfully. He rolled over, turning his back to Deborah. She smiled, thinking that he had prevented her from continuing to watch. It was like telling her to go back to bed and rest. And so she did. She went back to her bedroom. She slipped under the covers and stared at the window. It let cool moonlight in. But it wasn't the moonlight that was impeding Deborah in falling asleep. She regretted telling Alfie the whole truth. She hurt him in the past, and now he was thinking that she lied to him for her own benefits.

The door squeaked. Deborah looked back hurriedly, but when she saw Benjamin, her heart slowed. The boy was rubbing his eye, his hair sticking out in every possible direction. “Mum?” he spoke quietly.

“What is it, Benny?” she whispered. “Bad dream?” she added, and Benjamin nodded. Deborah raised a scrap of duvet, smiling encouragingly. Benjamin's bare feet bounced off the wooden panels, and he soon settled on the mattress. Deborah wrapped him in a duvet and kissed his temple. “It’s alright now, little bug. I’m here.”

Benjamin nodded again. There was a long silence, which made Deborah believe that Benjamin had fallen asleep. But shortly thereafter he turned and looked at her. “Why are we living with auntie Ada now? I mean, I like it. I can play with Karl every day, but...” he frowned. He looked even more like Alfie. “will we stay here like... forever?”

Deborah smiled softly and ran her fingers through Benjamin's hair. She pushed back a few strands off his forehead. “No.” she replied softly. “We'll be home soon.”

“Is it because of dad?” he continued. “I heard him yelling at you. And he hurt you.” he raised his hand and pointed at her cheek tentatively.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” she sighed heavily, forcing a smile this time. She embraced his hand and tightened it in a comforting gesture. She couldn't answer any of his questions. She couldn't burden him with problems of adult people, his parents. But he saw what was happening around. Deborah tried to create the best living conditions for him, a safe bubble. She was afraid that because of her relationship with Biagio, Benjamin would never taste the full joy of the childhood. And in the future he will blame her for raising him alongside the tyrant. “Try to get some sleep, alright? You are safe. We all are.”

Benjamin pursed his lips. Without hesitation, he hugged her suddenly, breathing heavily. He clenched his fingers on the fabric of her nightgown, as if he was afraid of being taken away from his mother. Deborah stroked her son's head, trying to ignore the painful knot in her throat.

 

*

 

Ada stood in the doorway to Deborah's bedroom. She crossed her arms and stared at Deborah leaning over the suitcase. Deborah was putting her things inside - freshly washed clothes, a hairbrush and cosmetics she took from home without much thought. The window in her bedroom was slightly ajar, making Benjamin and Karl's laughter to be heard inside the room.

Ada took a deep breath, looking away at the shoes standing nearby. She needed a point where she could hold her gaze for a moment before returning it to Deborah. “Are you sure about this? You know you can stay.”

“I am sure.” Deborah nodded. She folded the last shirt neatly and tucked it into her suitcase. She then looked at Ada with a faint, not necessarily happy smile. “You let me stay here, and I'm grateful for that, really. But the thing is, I can't hide from him constantly.” she said with conviction and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Debby...” Ada moaned in perceptible disappointment. She came closer and sat next to Deborah. “You’re right, you shouldn’t be hiding from him. And don't you think you should stop running? Haven't you had enough? We will find you a lawyer. The best lawyer.” she emphasized, looking at Deborah almost imploringly. “You'll leave Biagio and live with me. Tommy won't let to hurt you. Not to mention John or Arthur.”

“It's not as easy as it seems.” Deborah said immediately. “Biagio won't let me _just leave_ him. And I can't put your whole family at risk. You have more important things on your mind than the problems in my marriage.”

“ _My_ family? These people are your family too.” Ada protested.

“Ada is right.”

They both looked at the bedroom entrance. Thomas was leaning against the door frame, looking at Ada and Deborah without expression. He had his hands in his coat pocket, and his peaky-cap on his head. He looked like he had come over to do business, not to pay a visit.

“I'll take you to the train station. I already told Benjamin.”

Deborah frowned and blinked several times. “I thought John and Arthur would-”

“John and Arthur are busy.”

“Oh...” she replied a bit confused. She scratched the back of her head, then got up and grabbed her bag. “I wanted to say goodbye, but-”

“Come next week. Then you can say goodbye.” he said. Ada rolled her eyes. She rose lazily from her seat and passed Thomas in the doorway, leaving the room. Tommy took the bag from Deborah. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” she gasped. “We can go.”

 

*

 

The evening was exceptionally warm. The sky took on several colors - the gold turned into pink, and this gradually turned to purple. Purple, which in time was supposed to changed to a shade of ink. The trees were quiet, indicating no gusts of wind. Everything was standing still. The wall watch in Alfie's office did not seem to move, and when the pointer twitched, it did that with a heavy thump. At least, that was the way Alfie saw it. He looked back and checked the time. Then he checked it again, but on the small, gold pocket watch he usually had with him. He ordered Ollie to send everyone home. They usually worked longer, but today's circumstances was exceptional. Alfie also told Ollie to close the bakery and do not contact him until tomorrow.

After leaving the bakery, Alfie saw two glowing points. Headlights of the car in which Shelby brothers were sitting. Arthur and John were situating in the back seats. Arthur was clearly offended, but above all angry because of the trivial reason. John was waiting for this moment far too long to allow himself to spoil his mood. Tommy held the steering wheel, looking straight ahead without any clear emotions. Alfie took the seat next to him. He couldn't trust a single person in that car. The problem was, he had no choice, and he had to dare to be alone with them. He didn't spend much time thinking about his possible death if Arthur Shelby would decide to strangle him from the back seat. He focused on what they had agreed. Everyone had a common goal, so for now it was to take place without fisticuffs.

During the meeting in Tommy's office, Alfie had lots of ideas. He wanted to cut Biagio's hands off due to how much harm he had done using them. He wanted to break his legs for every kick he gave at Deborah. He wanted to cut his tongue off and nail it in between his eyes for every malice that ever left his mouth. And for every unforgivably horrible idea Biagio ever came up with, Alfie wanted to smash his head with a hammer so that his brain would splatter in all directions. Alfie wanted to do all these macabre things. But then the destruction of Biagio Castellano was pointless. They wanted to do it quietly. Even if none of them - Alfie, Thomas, Arthur or John - would find a peace after that. They had to act rationally, according to a plan that was to protect them from the Italian vendetta.

Thomas turned off the engine near the property. They got out of the car, Arthur inhaled the local, cool and seemingly clean air, John immediately checked all bullets in his Webley. Tommy pressed his hands into the pockets of his coat and looked at the house. The entire upper floor was dark, but several lights were peeking through the windows below.

Tommy turned and looked at his brothers. Arthur nodded knowingly, then patted John's shoulder. They both moved ahead with quick steps. Arthur leaned forward as usual as he walked. John was upright, but still ready for action.

“We should go. Otherwise, Arthur will beat him with his bare hands.” Tommy glanced at Alfie. Alfie was uncommonly quiet. Like never before. Instead of saying a word, he let out a low grunt, gasped and joined Thomas following the brothers.

Arthur and John appeared inside the house much earlier. “Bloody ‘ell, Debby!” Arthur's scream of shock spread throughout the hall, falling out outside as well.

“Jesus Christ.” John added.

Tommy and Alfie quickened their pace. And although Alfie expected the worst - for a brief moment he was convinced that they arrived too late, that something cruel happened during their absence - he was not prepared for the actual scenery. A muscle in his face twitched slightly. He tried to do everything not to show the anxiety he felt. Tommy frowned barely, which was sort of new. John parted his lips and winced in disgust and disbelief, and Arthur was breathing deeply, eyes wide.

Deborah was sitting on Biagio's body. Her hands, clothes, neck and lower half of her face were covered in blood. She was holding a large kitchen knife that she just removed from Biagio's chest. She was breathing heavily, her gaze wandering on her own work. There was also another one body. They recognized it as Edith. And Edith was dead too. A puddle of blood was surrounding her.

Deborah was trembling. She looked up and dropped the knife to the floor. She struggled to her feet and approached to Alfie with a stagger in her steps. She fell into his arms. In a literal sense, because if he didn't put his hands out and grab her, she would fall to the floor. He pressed her tightly and closer to himself when she let out a loud, miserable cry. Alfie just stroked her hair, still unable to speak.

John headed down the hall. Biagio's lifeless eyes were stuck to the ceiling. Lips slightly parted, throat mutilated. Several bloody holes - smaller and larger - were visible on his chest.

Arthur's fingers tightened on John's shoulder. “He is in the fookin' 'ell now, eh? Let's clean this fuckin' mess up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are we thinking, ladies?


End file.
